


my hands are shaking from holding back from you

by webbythyme



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clarke is a nurse, F/M, bellamy is a teacher, cause im in quarantine and bored, hints of bellamy/echo, it is a quarantine, lincoln is adopted, octavia/clarke are best friends, past finn/clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23315884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webbythyme/pseuds/webbythyme
Summary: “So, I am just stuck here?” He asked wishing his mom would say just kidding or tell him to run now when no one is looking.But his mom would probably kill him if he tried to leave and possibly infect others.“Unfortunately, yes. Just really make sure no one comes in.” And as if God himself was playing a silly game, Bellamy hears the door creak open.“Got it, feel better.” He is staring at the newcomer as he hangs up, not believing his fucking luck.“Hey, Bell.” Clarke Griffin smiled at him leaning against the door frame, completely oblivious to her surroundings.or:Clarke chooses the worst time to walk into the Blake house and now she is stuck for fourteen days with her best friend's brother who she might just have been slightly in love with when they were kids.or:Clarke chooses the worst time to walk into the Blake house and now Bellamy is stuck with her for fourteen days and trying his hardest not to stare too long.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, John Murphy/Raven Reyes, Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Comments: 35
Kudos: 407





	1. just every time I run, I keep on falling on you

**Author's Note:**

> So this a quarantine fic because that's where we are at. I am in complete boredom and my husband still has to work and nursing school is not half as much fun online as it is in person. So that is why I am writing my first Bellamy/Clarke story. Please comment whenever you want. It has been a long time since I have posted my stories anywhere. And the first time on archive :)

Bellamy’s day had been going relatively normal. So yeah, there was a pandemic which had gotten pretty wild, but he had been doing everything the resourceful and trusting outlets told him. He only went out when needed. Definitely didn’t go to eat anywhere and didn’t stock up on toilet paper like some people did.

He was excited for these few weeks of being off work and taking a long, nice vacation except for grading papers until they got a handle on how they were going to go about teaching his students. Though his mom tended to grate at times, it was what he got for moving back home. All in all, he didn’t really have much to worry about when it came to getting sick. His family had always been a healthy bunch and so the odds of anyone—

Bellamy’s phone lights up from his spot in his office—which was just the basement of his mom’s house. He had been gone for a few days at his girlfriend’s place and had only just gotten home to start his not at work--work.

“Hello?”

“Bellamy, are you home?” His mom asks, and Bellamy believes he hears a slight worry in his mom’s tone. But with everything going around, Bellamy takes it more as the air of panic than anything else.

“Yeah, just got here about ten minutes ago.” Bellamy switches the phone to speaker and sits on his desk so he can continue working on his most recent batch of essays his students had sent over.

“Damn, I was hoping to catch you in time.” Bellamy hears rustling distant—somewhere behind his mom and his mom mumbling to someone.

“For what?” He asked, eyes still reading over an essay with a title: Hide yo kids, hide yo wife cause war is coming. Extra points for creativity.

“Well, I have it.” Bellamy’s fingers pause. _It._ As in like the disease tearing across the world.

For his mom, it will probably not get worse than a cold. She will be stuck in the hospital for two weeks—precaution mostly. The only problem is they have started to implement houses being on lockdown for fourteen days. No one in or out—and then you get tested yourself.

And with it being able to stay in the air for 24 hours and his mom leaving just this morning, if someone were to even walk through the door in the next day—they’d be stuck to.

“Fuck.” Bellamy muttered wanting to bang his head against the computer.

It is one thing to be told—as a suggestion—to stay in your house. It is completely different to be stuck in it by yourself for two weeks.

“My sentiments exactly.” Bellamy’s mom’s tone mimicked his own. “I already talked to Octavia and she is going to stay at Clarke’s instead of coming here.”

He forgot Octavia was coming in from New York today, taking one of the last flights able. They had not yet grounded every plane, but there were definite extra precautions in flying and Octavia wanted to be closer to family before it got worse.

Yet, he and Octavia both knew she wasn’t going to Clarke’s to be closer to her but instead Lincoln —Clarke’s adopted brother who had just recently moved into Clarke’s. O and Lincoln had been together for as long as Bellamy can remember and most likely would end up married if they ever decided to.

“So, I am just stuck here?” He asked wishing his mom would say just kidding or tell him to run now when no one is looking.

But his mom would probably kill him if he tried to leave and possibly infect others.

“Unfortunately, yes. Just really make sure no one comes in.” And as if God himself was playing a silly game, Bellamy hears the door creak open.

“Got it, feel better.” He is staring at the newcomer as he hangs up, not believing his fucking luck.

“Hey, Bell.” Clarke Griffin smiled at him leaning against the door frame, completely oblivious to her surroundings.

She was still in her pink scrubs, probably just getting off from her night shift—not that he knew her shifts, just basing it off being about 8:30 in the morning—and had a bright smile on her face that someone who just worked twelve hours should never have.

“How long have you been here?” He asked, saving his essays, knowing there was no way he was going to get any of it done.

“Just walked in. Octavia is supposed to get here in a few minutes and then we are heading to my place.”

“Yeah, she isn’t coming.” Bellamy said slowly, closing his laptop and walking past Clarke, knowing full well she will follow him back up the stairs.

“Why?” He can hear her pout, years of seeing the way her down turned lips and furrowed brows caused her tone to become lower and annunciate more.

“Because my mom just called, and she is sick.” Bellamy told her matter of fact over his shoulder and still feeling slightly panicked from the thought, “O has been told to go to your apartment because the house is on lock down.”

“Meaning, I am on lock down.” She filled in the blanks rather quickly, but he really should expect nothing less from a seasoned nurse such as she. She plopped down on her bar stool.

(Because yes, it is her barstool and it had been her barstool since the first time she came over when she was six. He met her as she sat beside Raven, smashing her ice cream until it resembled more of a bowl of milk and talking excitedly about her newly adopted brother. Bellamy was eight and was impressed by the competitive nature of the small Clarke Griffin that caused her to win every game they played that night.)

“Since you decided to waltz on in, yes, you are.” He didn’t mean to sound frustrated at her. He really didn’t.

Clarke had always been a constant in his life, ever since they were kids and she showed up for a birthday party and seemingly never left. Clarke was just always there, and he got used to her being included in family decisions, and vacations. She and Lincoln weren’t close to their own parents—especially after their dad died and so it just made sense for them to stick together and form bonds with anyone that paid attention.

It only made sense for Lincoln and Octavia to come together romantically after years of following each other around because of Clarke.

The same couldn’t be said for Bellamy and Clarke. Sure, his mind occasionally wandered and there was a time where he was probably halfway in love with her, but she never felt the same. And after she got into a long-term relationship, he settled on just being the best friend’s brother and nothing more. He didn’t even care that much anymore, and he didn’t feel spasms of pain when she talked about her boyfriend and he didn’t feel the need to step out of the room whenever Finn got brought up. And he had a girlfriend of course. Not like he forgot.

But two weeks with her just sounded like complete torture.

“I didn’t just waltz in. Octavia and I had a plan to meet here. It isn’t my fault she didn’t find it important--” Bellamy had watched as Clarke ranted while going to her phone and Clarke must have found something _important_ because she was now frowning at the screen.

“She text me two minutes ago. See--” She turns the phone toward him as though he can read it, “Not my fault.”

“Either way, princess—we are stuck together for fourteen days.”

\-------- -----

Clarke didn’t cringe when he said it, but she felt a chill run the length of her body like he just whispered the words to her. Fourteen days with Bellamy sounded like torture. Like a game of Saw—being taunted with an option you can never have and settling for cutting your ankle off. Okay, so that is a stretch but still. 

Princess used to aggravate her so much. During those years of preteen hood where she thought Bellamy was the greatest thing she had ever seen and Bellamy spat princess at her like he was just an angry commoner. Stupid really, but as they grew princess became more of a term of endearment and she kept safe and tucked away. Finn tried to call her princess once and the words fell off his tongue and wrapped around Clarke and she felt like she was being choked. 

She had gotten so good at not thinking about Bellamy or catching his eyes first when she told a joke to see if he found her funny. She didn’t stay a few extra minutes at the Blake household just to see him make an appearance. Sure, her palms still got sweaty when she saw him, and yes, her heart stayed tachycardic when he spoke, but that didn’t mean anything.

“Super.” She didn’t hide her dissatisfaction because it wasn’t like he was. His attitude made it perfectly clear he would rather be with any number of people before her.

Probably even Anya. And he hated Anya.

He had been like this with her ever since she started college. Before, he was cordial and kind to her and after he became short and walked out of any room she stepped into. It was like she had a disease he was terrified of catching and would rather listen to his mother’s rants of home decorating than her.

Of course, there was moments where he slipped—right back to the way he was. Teasing her on her favorite baseball teams, laughing as she told a ridiculous story about twin telepathy—even though she and Lincoln were neither twins nor related, but then his face turned sour and he went back to being an ass.

“I need to shower if I am staying here.” She mumbles sliding off her stool, already trying to figure out what she is going to be wearing for the next fourteen days. It was possible for Octavia to drop off clothes on the front steps, but she wasn’t particularly sure if it was worth it. The only thing she will be in dire need of is undergarments.

She had to have left clothes around somewhere.

“You’ll probably need clothes,” Bellamy seemingly reads her mind, but she doesn’t look into it.

Instead she nods and follows him up the stairs to Octavia’s old room that has since been converted into a guest room.

Clarke feels awkward in his presence, even though she has been in this house not much more than he has if you count the years he moved away, and she stayed. But being alone with him as he rummages through the closet makes her feel like she is in a patient’s room preparing them for birth.

“There’s some leggings, that’s pretty much it.” He tosses the different colored leggings on the bed, stepping passed her and Clarke held her breath as he did.

It is reflex, she tells herself, because she doesn’t want to breathe in his cologne because she is allergic. That’s all. Not because of the fact when they were in high school, she woke up after staying up too late with Octavia and finding Bellamy's comforter on top of her. His whole damn comforter. She couldn't help snuggling into it deeper and loving how his smell lingered on her clothes. She tried not to think about who put it on her the night before.

She stays where she is, looking in a lone drawer and silently screaming jackpot at the underwear with tags. They weren’t the cutest in the world, but she can always count on mama Blake to buy things solely because of the sale. The only thing was that meant there had to be extra shirts somewhere.

She goes to look but all she can find are nice blazers and work clothes—none of which were her size, but all with tags. She isn’t sure why she was looking where Bellamy already looked, but she needed something to do, something to take her mind off being in close proximity with him for actual days.

“Mom cleaned out like all of the extra clothes she had laying around, so this is all I can find.” His voice filters into the room before she seems him, stepping out of the closet to where he is holding t-shirts from their high school and a sweatshirt, she knows is probably an old one of his. In fact, all of these are probably his.

“Thanks,” She takes them from him, careful not to touch him.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to be wearing my mom’s clothes and O took everything with her—obviously.” He was rambling, she noticed, and she tried to not find it endearing. Everything Bellamy did was like the new and improved version of everyone else.

Bellamy could probably sneeze, and she would it charming.

Bellamy had his flaws, they all did, but she always just seemed to gloss over them when it came to him. He could be a right dick to Octavia, especially when they were all in high school, but Clarke always found a reason to defend him to her best friend and brother, tried to find understanding in him.

And how he was an adult, shaping the minds in the same halls they walked, and she was a nurse at the local hospital. They each grew up and yet, her want for him never waned.

“I’ll be downstairs, trying to get some work done.”

She only nodded, tired of talking and keeping the breathlessness and shaky tremors out of her tone.

And then he was gone, and she was off to a few minutes of peace in the shower.

\--------------- ---

Bellamy heard the thrum of the shower and felt like he was releasing the first breath he had taken since she walked in. It was like a pressure in the room whenever she was around, pushing down on them until they both died from lack of oxygen.

It was easier when there were others. It was best when his girlfriend was there. He cared about Echo and the treacherous feelings for Clarke lessened when Echo was in his sights. In reality, that sounded terrible and he really shouldn’t be thinking about his girlfriend of four years, but it was the truth.

As long as he didn’t see Clarke, or hear Clarke, or think about Clarke, he was fine. Honestly.

Yet now, here he was in a house with her, giving her his clothes and he knows it is stupid. He easily could have handed her something of his moms. Or even the one of Miller, his best friend who leaves his shit everywhere. But he couldn’t, he wanted it to be his clothes. Wanted to see the way they fell around her and her short and small frame.

He was going to hell.

That was for sure.

God, it could have been anyone else. He would have taken anyone else. Even Anya, and he despised Anya.

Okay, maybe not Anya.

He would rather deal with his sexual and overwhelming want of Clarke over fucking Anya. Why Octavia and Clarke were friends with her, he would never understand.

His phones lights up again, O showing on his screen. He glares at it, deciding all of this is her fault, but answers, nevertheless.

“I hate you.” He grumbled into her ear as he starts back towards the downstairs and her laugh pissed him off more.

“Oh, yes Bell. This was all my master plan to get you and Clarke to fuck. You figured me out.” He cringes at her crass tone, never comfortable discussing his sex life with his baby sister.

“You couldn’t have text her five minutes earlier?”

He had long given up hiding his slight feelings for Clarke from his sister. He always thought he had them clear under wraps because he didn’t like her _that_ much, but Octavia got him drunk one night a few years back and it might have slipped that she wasn’t the only Blake to find a Griffin attractive.

She kept his secret, shockingly, not telling either Griffin sibling, but it never stopped her from wanting to lock them in a room and just see what happens.

“Look, I get you want Clarke and I to be like you and Lincoln, but we aren’t. I am with Echo and that’s that.” He wasn’t convincing himself. No way. He just didn’t want to be locked up with her.

“I believe you. Just be nice, please?” She asks, a serious tone in her voice.

“I am always nice, O.”

She makes a noise similar to huff, “Yeah, we all have emotional wounds from your moods, so I beg to differ.”

“I will keep you updated.” He tells her, ignoring her rude ass comment, “Try not to get pregnant.”

“Ditto.”

He rolls his eyes, dropping his phone on the couch and fully giving up on grading essays. Today is not the day. Instead he begins flipping through the channels, hating they cancelled all sports until further notice.

It doesn’t feel like enough time before he hears her padding down the stairs, mumbling about how much she hates stairs in general and he can’t help the small grin. He always tried to keep a distance from her. The feelings of jealousy that popped into his mind when she talked about Finn. So maybe that caused him to be a little short with her because it made it easier. But then there were moments, those quick moments where he can’t control his emotions quick enough.

Twenty-six years old and he can’t fucking handle a girl who is literally five feet and like three inches on a tall day.

“Bellamy!” She calls out.

“Living room,” He responds, muting the television to hear her speak.

She steps into the living room with the clothes he gave her, and he wants to smack himself for the feeling that runs through him. It is primitive, the way his mouth dries and the pride he feels of her wearing his clothes. But he can't help it. His shirt is too big and falls on her just how he expected it to. Not that he thought about it that often and he would feel the same way if Echo were to walk in wearing his shirt. But with Clarke, he allows that moment to accept it will always be different with her.

“We need a plan,” She tells him as she sits on the arm of the sofa facing him, hands clasped together excited for what she thought about in the shower, never noticing the overwhelming panic running through Bellamy.

Her long hair is wet, still has drops falling off the cotton candy blue ends. Clarke never stayed one color long, but she had been blue for quite some time. Long enough for her to grow out her roots enough to look like she chose to have half blonde and half blue. On anyone else, he would probably find it messy. On her, it just seemed natural.

Because cotton candy blue is a natural color.

“A plan?”

“We are here for fourteen days and okay, you probably could ride and grab something, but you got stuck with a nurse, so you are definitely not leaving.” She tells him with a finger pointed in his direction, “I am sure we have enough food, but we need to practice keeping our distance from each other,”

“Not a problem.” He meant that because why would they be close to each other, but the quick downturn of her lips told him he hurt her feelings.

So maybe he is a little bit of an ass. Probably for the best.

“Also, we should just try to pass the time as quickly as possible.” She pauses looking around the room, “So like movies, and board games and card games. And no over sleeping.”

“Alright, Clarke. We can do whatever you want.” He tells her, enjoying the pleased smile she emits.

Maybe just letting himself talk to her the way he used to might be easier than keeping up the appearance of nonchalance and not caring.

“Also, I am so hungry. I haven’t eaten since like four this morning. And I probably should sleep a few hours.” She is making mental check lists. He can almost see it in her eyes the way she nods to herself, hopping off the couch to make herself breakfast most likely.

The rest of the day goes by unspectacularly. After her breakfast, Clarke heads upstairs to sleep and doesn’t come backout until mid-day. He finally got through two essays and watched a movie before she came back, telling him all the different things about her shift that had happened the night before.

He hadn’t asked her, but he assumed this is what she did. Her way to handle the bad things that came with a nurse was to talk about it. Usually, that meant talking to Lincoln or Octavia if she was around—but for today, it was just him.

A lady had come in high and in labor and Bellamy could see the sadness in her eyes, in her tone as told the story of the still born that had been delivered. This was her daily life, taking care of people who were going through—for the most part—a happy time in their lives but for others—possibly the worse.

She wore it with a grace he didn’t know until then. He just knew she was a nurse, he never thought about the emotions she went through because of it.

“Stillborns are always hard,” She finishes, a wetness in her tone that wasn’t there before, and he almost thinks about reaching out to hold her hand.

Almost.

His hand looks like a spasm—the quick flinch for her. His mind not quite caught up to his heart—wanting to reach out to her. Wanting to just comfort her for just a second. But that wasn’t who they were. She had people that could comfort her. Bellamy wasn’t of them, so he settled for:

“I didn’t think that was common.” Was all he knew to say, and she shrugged in response.

“They say about 1 in 200 births. But I haven’t seen that many and I have helped with more than 200. But you never get over it. Even after that first one.” She sighs, “It is easier when you can prepare the parents because you already know from ultrasound. The worst is when you don’t know.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Does Lincoln —in his usual wise manner—talk about the silver lining? Or is it more like Octavia—where they just go back and forth about the horror before moving on to something else?

He doesn’t’ know how to talk to her. Years of staying away from her and getting to know her caused him to feel like a stranger to her. How did he let it get to that point? Was his pride so large he forgot how to talk to someone he has known for more than half his life?

“Are you hungry?” She asks abruptly, making the decision for him.

Did she know he was having an inner panic? Could she see the tension rising in his body and the worry because he didn’t know how to talk to her? Or was this just what she did? Say what was on her mind, what she was struggling with and then move on to the next topic.

“Uh—I could eat.” He nodded.

“Cool, I will see what we have. Look for something to watch while I cook.”

“I can cook.” He tells her and she scoffs at him.

“No offense, Bell, but I have had what you consider cooking and I am not trying to die.” She giggles at what must be an offended look on his face.

“I have gotten better.”

“And we can test that theory after the pandemic,” She patted his head as she walks behind the sofa, and he only shakes his head at her.

It is so easy for her to create easy conversation between the two which probably stemmed from the fact where he had more than platonic feelings for her at one time in their lives and she didn’t.

\---------- ---------

Clarke had to move away from him. Away from his smell and his concerned looks and his almost words that almost come out. Bellamy always looked like there was something else he wanted to say or to do and it killed her every time when he stayed silent. How many times had she watched his body sway towards her when she hugged Aurora goodbye—hesitating in the final moments and saying goodbye with a huff and nothing more. His almost words stuck with her more than anything else he did with her.

And she just couldn’t do it. She stayed in Octavia’s old room much longer than her nap was. She just wanted a few hours where she was away from him and felt like she could breathe without him pushing down on her lungs.

He always made it look so easy, and she felt like she was insane for the feelings that wouldn’t go away and the need to move herself closer to him, like a cord wrapped so tight no one else could get in even if they tried. She couldn’t understand how it was possible for her to feel so unstable around him, so on edge and so anxious and for him to not feel anything back.

But he didn’t. And she had gotten used to watching girlfriend after girlfriend, some that she would even consider friends be brought around. When he moved away from Arkadia she felt like she could finally move on and then he came back rushing in, staying with his mom in the last year until she was back on her feet from losing her job. All of those feelings she thought she had a tight handle on came sweeping back in and shoving her back into the pit of despair. She clawed her way out of it the first time but now she tired and had no idea how she supposed to do this anymore.

But she enjoyed his company. She always had reveled in their quiet conversations when Octavia had stepped out of the room. She enjoyed the way he chuckled at his jokes or smiled behind his hands when she told a ridiculous story. She didn't like being away from him and that feeling had terrified since they were young. Because she didn't really know him other than what came out over the last almost twenty years. But she didn't know him enough to be heartbroken when he wasn't around.

She just had to get through fourteen days and then he would be gone again. So maybe she just needed to take what she could get. Even if it would kill her later. 


	2. my dear, is that all we have ever been

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to try my hardest to update this as often as I can but every time I get on my computer I have more assignments added to my classes. Never thought I would miss lecture this much. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one. Each chapter name is a song I feel fits the chapter somewhat. Thank you for the kudos I have already gotten and can't wait for more. Always feel free to comment!

Bellamy wakes at seven thirty to a silent house. There is a split moment where he worries Clarke left in the middle of the night—ran off because she couldn't fathom the next two weeks with him. Clarke has never been the quiet type, so it is only natural to worry. Even asleep, you can hear the girl tossing and huffing in her sleep—annoyed at her subconscious for whatever it dreamt up. Even in separate bedrooms and doors shut, Bellamy would always hear her when they were growing up. Being a light sleeper himself, it was impossible to not hear her mumbles, her sighs and seventeen-year-old Bellamy struggled with making sure his body didn't react to her noises. He was in deep shit enough with her awake and coherent that he didn't need to add getting turned on by her asleep added to the list.

And Clarke awake was even louder. Her clumsy nature caused her to constantly trip over and run into things and she always—without fail—mumbled an ow, a shit, a huff. Clarke didn't know how to hide her frustrations, the sassiness of her personality always seeping through resulting in scoffs and rolled eyes.

The fact she helped bring babies into the world without dropping them was an amazing feat in itself.

So, when he woke up and couldn't hear her, he assumed she was gone. He grabbed his phone, unplugged it from the charger and checked for messages. Echo had text multiple times throughout the night, questioning why he didn't just leave the house and if anyone was there with him.

He groaned at the message, knowing there was no way he could tell her Clarke was her because if he did, Echo would be here in record time to be quarantined herself. In all honesty, he was shocked she hadn't already. A message from his mom to him and Octavia, updating them on her symptoms and things to look out for.

His group chat with Miller and Murphy was blowing up and he had yet to tell them he would not be able to make it to their weekly meet up—even though now they still kept six feet apart from each other.

This version of the world sucked he decided as he shuffled down the stairs and he was pleasantly surprised and yet somehow still disappointed to find the blue haired girl sitting at her stool, coffee in her hand and glasses perched on her nose looking at her phone.

"Hey," He said to her causing her to jump.

"Don't you knock?" She glares over her phone and he can only roll his eyes.

"It's the kitchen, Clarke." He tells her, reaching for his own mug and chuckling at her glare.

"Well, it isn't nice to sneak up on people."

"I wasn't sneaking up," He shook his head, "And you should be used to that since your brother is the quietest person I have ever met."

She pushes her phone to the side, giving him her full attention, "Yeah, why do you think it was so easy for O to sneak him in all the time?"

Bellamy stilled and looked at her confused, "She what?"

Clarke smiled, obviously gaining the reaction she wanted out of her comment. Only fair since he "snuck up" on her. Why not remind him of all the dirty things his sister does—apparently when he is only a room away.

"Literally all through high school. Though it was harder for him to sneak _out_ once mom started dating Kane."

Bellamy was still in shock from this revelation. He never once suspected his sister was sneaking Lincoln in all those years.

"Don't look so scandalized. You did the same thing with Gina." She pointed out.

Oh Gina. He had not thought of her in a long time. He and Gina dated on and off through high school and when it ended, he never saw her again. She was kind when she wanted, mean when she needed to be and was on the receiving end of Bellamy's moods after Clarke would come over. The amount of arguments they got into because of Clarke was higher than he cared to admit. And he couldn't even blame Clarke because she didn't even know.

"It is still weird."

Clarke rolled her eyes, but didn't continue the conversation and instead asked, "What are you gonna do today?"

"What can we do expect sit here and wait for the days to run out?"

"Well," She stands and walks around the counter, placing her mug in the sink and coming to stand in front of him.

Definitely not six feet apart but he wasn't about to tell her that. He can smell her pear shampoo, still traces even after using his mom's generic unscented dove. She was far enough away from him that he if he reached out, his arm would be outstretched yet somehow close enough to bring his nerve endings to attention. How is it possible? Is it because she is so unknown to him? He had never touched her except for the one time he helped get off a boat, never had he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body close to him in the twenty years he had known her. Maybe that was why—even now—when they were adults and no longer hormonal teenagers, he felt she had a string wrapped around him and at any moment all she would need to do is pull and he would unravel all around her.

"There's movies, board games, video games, eating," She riddles off and then pauses, "This is your house, Bellamy. Shouldn't you be telling me what there is?"

He chuckles but doesn't say anything. Instead, he only shrugs. Clarke always was at home when his house. Probably even more than at her own home. She was here every weekend growing up and even during the weekdays when her mom allowed it. Bellamy's mom was never Abby's favorite person saying as they went to school together as well. Because in Arkadia pretty much everyone knows everyone and your parents either hooked up at one point or hated each other.

Their moms were the latter mostly because Clarke's dad and his mom were the former. But that was something they never spoke of. The only time they even found out was that one night when Jake came to pick Clarke up and some comment was made that only someone who had slept with another and intimately knew the other could say. It was awkward and uncomfortable and clearly a slip of the tongue that every wished they could just forget.

Of course, Abby acted like that wasn't the reason she didn't like his mom. She made it seem like it was from their parenting styles. Abby thought Bellamy's mom was too lax with her children and stemmed it from his mom's free-spirited ways in high school (see her free-spirited ways including Jake Griffin).

Bellamy's mom thought Abby was uptight and asked too much of her children instead of giving them room to breathe.

Clarke most likely sided with his mom over hers.

Bellamy tried not to think about just how close he was to being Jake Griffin's kid and not the low life he got saddled with. And tried not to delve into the fact the Blake children and Griffin children somehow still managed to find each other. Not that he had found Clarke, just in general-as friends.

"All I know we have is that card game Murphy left time we had a get together."

Clarke tapped her pointer finger against her lips and Bellamy averted his eyes. Leave it to Clarke to unknowingly bring his attention back to the pieces of her he was adamantly trying to avoid.

"I know exactly what I want to play." She smiled so wide; Bellamy couldn't help but allow the corners to upturn as well.

"I can only imagine."

She clapped her hands, "Go make room in the living room and I will be right back."

She is all but skipping away from him and he knows he doesn't even question the fact he does exactly what she asks.

* * *

"So, what is my end game here?" Bellamy asked sitting on the floor, the board game set up on the coffee table, and Clarke on the other side—bright eyed and excited to play the old game.

It was falling apart from years of use; he could see where cards had been ripped and taped. The door in the middle of the board was the handle and instead had a paperclip to open it.

"Okay, so you are going to keep drawing and discarding your cards until you have the hair style, the outfit and the accessory." She is pulling cards and holding up what is supposed to be 'picnic' date, "And then when it comes your turn after you have them, you spin the doorknob—

"Paper clip." He corrects and she levels him with a look Hermione Granger would be proud of—huffy and glaring at him for his interruption.

" _Doorknob_ ," She reiterates, "And if you get the boy that matches the outfit, you win."

"And what do I win?" His chin is resting in his open palm and Clarke mouth dries at her instant thought to tell him he can have whatever he wants—even if it is her.

But she bites her lip, gives a shrug and enough time to collect her thoughts before she says, "Not something for you to worry about."

He chuckles, "Oh? Why is that?"

"Cause I'm gonna win," She teases, loving the way they had fallen into an ease with each other this morning that wasn't quite stilted and awkward as it was last night. She didn't feel as suffocated as she did the night before, but she was sure it wouldn't stay this way.

Distant Bellamy was always just one comment away.

But she loved these moments with him. When they were in a quiet comfort with each, subtle and not crass like some of her other friendships. Just a quiet existence with just each other. She loved being _just_ with him. Just beside her each other, just comfort.

When she was _just_ her.

And he was _just_ him.

Bellamy was like a display in a museum, signs in front of him telling her not to touch him with grimy hands. He wasn't hers to touch, he wasn't hers to feel each crevice of marble that made him into the beautiful sculpture in front of her, but the bad angel on her shoulder whispers, "Just do it. No one is even looking."

She lived for the times where he would move behind her, his shirt grazing hers. Or the time she walked out of the bathroom right as he passed, causing them to run into each other. It was moments of shock and awe causing her whole body to be aware of every inch of itself.

"Alright, Princess. Your turn." He smiled at her, pulling from her reverie and she only knows how to smile back.

* * *

"You cheated." She tells him when he opens the door to reveal he had won—again.

"Is cheating even possible?" He asks her, trying not to find her absolutely adorable by her crossed arms and pout.

"It must be because you won _three_ times. Are you counting cards?"

His laugh is loud, leaning towards hysterical at her offended look towards the game—like it failed her. Clarke was never good at hiding her emotions, something he always liked about her. She felt everything so fully whether she was frustrated or happy or sad. It was how he knew she didn't feel all those pesky non-platonic feelings. He would have noticed it because she never would have been able to hide it.

"Well, do you want to play something else then?" He looks at his watch, "We aren't even at noon yet."

She gnaws on her lip and he busies himself by looking at his phone. A text from Echo still sat unread from an hour ago. He needed to look at it, he needed to respond to her from earlier. He just hadn't gotten want to do it yet. He hated himself for this. For shoving his girlfriend of three years to the side just at the chance to spend uninterrupted time with Clarke—who was also taken even if she hadn't spoken of Finn the past two days. But he craved her attention, to smile at him, to tease him in a way he never had with Echo.

It is the guilt that pulls him to unlock his phone to see the text from Echo.

_I can always come._

He knew that was gonna happen. She was willing to take a chance on getting sick because she hated the idea of him being with anyone but her. They didn't exactly have the most stable relationship. He knew there was really no possibility of him getting sick. He knew that this was just two weeks to do what he was already doing which was staying at home. And there would really be no reason for him to not want Echo here.

"Ooh, let's play bowling on the tv." She decides, already cleaning up the game.

And Bellamy, hating himself, types:

_No, I already don't feel great. Don't wanna take any chances._

He was going straight to hell.

* * *

The day progresses and Clarke is waiting for Bellamy to close himself off, run right back into his hate filled words and angry glares he always is sending her, but it never comes. Instead they move game to game. Bowling, to cards, to a first-person shooter game she resoundingly sucks at.

They even did a twenty-minute yoga video that ended with Clarke falling on her face enough times, her hands catching herself as she tries the beginner positions that she is probably going to end up with bruises.

It was worth it to see the way Bellamy twisted himself, his shirt drifting upward as he bent over to show the expanse of his tightened stomach. She gulped through her heavy breaths just at the sight of him, averting her attention when he would ask her how she was doing.

The worry she felt the night before and the tension chipped away the longer they were around each other and she wasn't sure if that bothered or not.

After dinner, as he is drying the dishes she washes, she is hit with the startling realization that they are acting like they are living together, and she was enjoying too much the domesticity of Bellamy when he has a girlfriend outside of this house. He had a girlfriend inside this house as well, it wasn't like she wasn't a person just because Clarke could no longer see her.

It made Clarke's stomach tumble around in turmoil, wanting any reason to be away from him.

And then his phone rings.

Somehow that isn't what she meant.

"You should get that." She tells him, knowing he needs to answer that call so Clarke can be reminded he is just doing his duty of getting through these days with her. And this is day two and he is just trying to make the best of it.

"We aren't done." He doesn't even move to answer the phone and it bothers her more.

"You don't have to entertain me, Bellamy. I'm sure your girlfriend misses you." The words held no bite, but her tone sharpened them. She needed to remember just who had Bellamy's heart and affection and how it had never been her.

He is silent for a moment, and she continues to wash the already clean dish, yet somehow she feels his burning eyes on her. She ignores it, ignores him and wishes him away.

"You're right." He snips back, snatching the phone and shuffling out of the kitchen into the adjacent dining room. Once he is gone, Clarke finally releases the breath she didn't realize she was holding.

She can hear them talk, hear his soft words reserved for the girl he loves. Clarke hates the way her heart splinters, her eyes burn and her lip quivers. She is so stupid; this whole day was nothing but necessity and nothing else.

It was best to remember just exactly where she stood in Bellamy's eyes.

"No, no one is here." She hears him say and it beats down her resolve just a little more.

No one. She is no one. Maybe it is time she remembered that.

She doesn't wait for him to say good night. She finishes the last dish, washes her hands, and starts up the stairs refusing to even look his way and shutting the door with a loud shut to remind him he isn't wanted.

Tomorrow she will do better. Tomorrow she will remember.


	3. we hide our emotions under the surface and trying to pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the kudos and bookmarks. I hope you enjoy this chapter !

The next morning, Clarke stays in the guest room longer than is necessary. She hates the way she got so caught up the day before and was embarrassed by her actions. Though oblivious Bellamy never noticed her slip-ups, she did. And it caused her to hide in Octavia's old room, staring at the pale cream walls, decorative floral pictures scattered around the walls.

She picked at the blue comforter, searching through her phone and wishing she could just go back to days prior—before she was locked in this house with him. If only Octavia had text, her a few minutes later. If only, she was more lax on the mandates for the quarantine.

If only.

If only.

Her phone rang, pulling her out of her pity party and she answered—pulling herself out of the bed and shuffling into the closet for privacy before Raven even started talking.

"My favorite sister wife," Raven said into the phone.

Clarke sat on the floor, leaning against the wall being enveloped in clothes. Clarke met Raven before she even met Octavia, finding each other in preschool. Octavia might be Clarke's closest friend, but Raven would always be her first. They had rocky few months back in their senior year of high school. When they both liked the new boy and neither in the adolescence wanted to give him up. But then something changed. Raven came over to spend the night with Octavia and it was the same night Bellamy brought John Murphy home—his roommate—because it was thanksgiving break and he had nowhere else to go.

Raven called Clarke the next morning, telling her in detail just how much she wanted John Murphy in the sack. Personally, Clarke didn't see the appeal when she met him days later, but it ended the feud between Raven and Clarke, but the sister wife moniker stuck. Clarke started dating Finn only a week later.

Clarke had long forgotten to be annoyed by it.

"What's up?"

"What's up? No hey, Raven, sorry I forgot to mention I am in quarantine with my fucking soulmate."

Clarke sighed, not in the mood for Raven and her theories, "He isn't my soulmate." She paused, "And how did you even find out?"

She could hear Raven's grumble at her, her temper frayed even more since becoming pregnant. Clarke reached up to feel the material of a comfortable looking sweater dress. It was burgundy and looked right sublime for the winter.

"Well my husband's best friend actually talks to him, unlike mine it seems." Raven huffed.

"I didn't want to worry you. You are literally days from giving birth. You are stressed enough."

Clarke wasn't sure but the noise Raven made seemed rather strangled. "Clarke, I am giving birth in _three days_ if everything goes to plan and my personal nurse—who is on my birth plan in all caps and stars—is in quarantine."

Raven wasn't one to get upset. Angry—yes. She had a temper that rivaled Murphy which is probably why they were so good for each other. But pregnancy can heighten every emotion and she could hear the twinge of panic and fear in Raven's voice.

"You can't really choose a nurse. We aren't servers." Clarke tries to tease, trying anything to have Raven laugh and not cry on her.

"I'm serious, Clarke. I already have to have no visitors and hopefully John can even be in the room. At least I got to have my best friend hold my hand and now…" Raven is sighing loudly and shaky and Clarke hates this for her.

The last few shift Clarke had before this had been heartbreaking. It wasn't why she became a labor and delivery nurse. Mom's by themselves with only the doctors there as she welcomed her baby into the world. Spouses not allowed to be in the room, adopting parents using surrogates having to wait in the waiting room like they were just a visitor and not the parent of the child. It was too quiet, too unnatural and she hated the way things had crumbled around them.

"I didn't mean for this," Clarke mumbles, gnawing on her lip, feeling her own emotions rising feeling like she had failed her friend.

"I know, I know. How were you supposed to know?" Raven laughed wetly.

Clarke wiped at her eyes.

"You're feeling okay though, right?" Raven asked trying to sound more upbeat than she probably was actually feeling.

"Mhmm." Clarke hummed, "I am living the dream."

"I think you should just tell him." Raven deiced for her. Like it was the easiest and not the most embarrassing thing for her to do.

"Yeah, let me just walk right up to him and be like hey Bell, I have been in love with you since we were like twelve and my dad died, and you gave the last piece of cake."

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that exactly." Raven mumbled and Clarke giggled. "But really, that's when you realized it? I thought it was when he walked out of the room shirtless that one time. I mean, that was enough for me."

Clarke laughed outright then. Bellamy did have a knack for walking around shirtless in their teen years, and she had a crush for sure. But it was before that, when she was going through the hardest moments in her life. She missed her dad and she just wanted Aurora's German chocolate cake.

She got to the house after being told by Octavia there was some cake left to see Bellamy putting the last slice on a plate. She told him not to worry about it, she didn't need it.

She sat on her perfect barstool that had the perfect view of the living room and the dining room, picking on her chipped yellow nail polish when the plate slid in front of her and he walked away without a word.

Her heart never stood a chance after that.

"The cake was enough."

"There is no way that dude feels nothing for you. Even John says he has a staring problem, and this is John we are talking about."

She isn't wrong. Murphy didn't realize Raven had the hots for him until she locked him in a room and took her top off.

"He has a girlfriend, Raven." Clarke told her, feeling her hopes starts to climb once again. It is hard for them not to when you have people building you up, telling you there is no way it won't go the way you want it to.

"Echo sucks," She hears in the background and Clarke breathed through her teeth.

"I'm on speaker, aren't I?"

"John wanted to listen."

The last thing Clarke wanted was for Bellamy's best friend to hear her heart sick want for him. What if Murphy goes and tells him? And then Bellamy and Echo sit together and laugh at her stupidity. Well, if that was the case, Raven might just kill her husband and so maybe he is smarter than she gives him credit for.

"I'm serious, Griffin. She has nothing over you other than the fact she has seen his dick." Murphy tells her and she rolls her eyes. She didn't want to hear about Echo and Bellamy's dick.

"Why did you marry him again?" Clarke asks Raven.

"Cause he has good dick," Clarke cringes at the thought as Raven and Murphy—was she assumes—high five. She wanted to hear about Raven and Murphy's dick even less.

"Well, as much fun as the conversation has been for me, I still have eleven days left of this torture so if you don't mind—"

"It would go by a lot faster if you two were fucking."

"Goodbye, Murphy." Clarke keeps the edge out of her tone. It isn't their fault that she doesn't want to hear how she should just sleep with Bellamy, "I will talk to both of you soon. Keep me updated."

She disconnects the call before either of the inappropriate parents to be said anything about keeping them updated on Bellamy's penis or anything related to it. It bothered her. Murphy was Bellamy's best friend and he is telling her all she needs to do is sleep with him. She didn't want to be that even if Bellamy did want her in that way. She would never sully herself to be sleep with a man who didn't care about her as much as did him.

As Amy March said, I would be respected if I couldn't be loved.

She missed Lincoln, he always had her back and not only that—ever since the moment he was adopted when she was six years old, he had been the calming presence that always kept her balanced. He kept her at ease and without him, she felt like she was falling apart. Clarke stays seated on the closet floor, eyes closed and deep breaths as she tried to figure out just how she could get through these next eleven days without her heart being completely fractured.

* * *

When Bellamy got off the phone with Echo she had been gone. Her door slammed prompting him to hang up with Echo before too many questions could be asked. He couldn't figure out what had caused the change. Their day had been pretty great, between games and being in each other's company.

But with Echo's call, she shut him out and ran upstairs.

The only logical explanation was she missed Finn. She hadn't spoken about him, but maybe she was upset because he hadn't called. Bellamy couldn't imagine why that would upset her; Finn sucked. He had been putting up with the cocky asshole for years and every time he saw him, he wanted to punch him in the face a little bit more. It wasn't all just because of Clarke—though most of it was—but he just was a condescending dick and he didn't even have the smarts to back up his ego.

Bellamy despised him from the moment he met him.

It was like Finn saw what other didn't see. Bellamy's longing stare when Clarke was around. Finn acted like he had won a prize, toting Clarke around like she was the first-place trophy. Never realizing how unlike Clarke it was to treat her that way. How could Finn not realize that Clarke was independent and didn't need him. Finn wasn't a necessity—he was just a dessert. Clarke was that was with all of her relationships. She never needed someone too much that she couldn't put herself back together if they broke apart.

He admired her for that.

Bellamy had gone up the stairs, standing in front of her door for minutes, trying to find the courage to knock, to just see her face one more time and to say goodnight.

But like every other aspect of his life, he was a coward.

So, this morning, he hid downstairs, grading his essays and creating online lectures for his students to access and impatiently waiting for her to come to him.

By ten-thirty, she still hadn't made an appearance and he felt like he was going crazy. After two days of her, he wanted more. He wanted to hear her laugh and discuss the state of the country. She had very heated things to say about the president and he found it quite amusing. He wanted to sit over breakfast with her and watch as she would somehow manage to always miss her mouth with one bite, and it end up on her shirt.

He missed her.

Which was crazy, she was two flights up and not thinking of him at all. But he couldn't concentrate on anything knowing she might be mad at him.

She made him feel quite fucking crazy.

At noon, he hears her in the kitchen, and he bides his time, all but tapping his fingers on the keyboard, imagining she must come see him soon. He glances at the roof above him, knowing she is moving about without him. He gives it five minutes before he can't take it anymore.

He closes his laptop and heads up to where she is, finding her on the couch curled up in one of the many blankets his mom has out and flipping through one of the many streaming services.

"I wondered when you'd make an appearance," He tries to tease as he plops down in the recliner beside her.

She glances at him and gives the briefest of smiles, "Yeah, I was talking to Raven."

"Is she okay?" He had spoken to Murphy just yesterday and he hadn't mention anything about the baby coming. And Murphy might play tough, but he talks about the baby _a lot_ with him and Miller.

Clarke nods, still looking at the TV. "She is just upset I am stuck here instead of with her when it comes time for baby Murphy to make their grand appearance."

"Leave it to the cockroach's child to be born during a pandemic." Bellamy quips and that tightness in his chest loosens slightly when she can't stop the amused grin to cross her face. It is isn't much, but he will take it. He will take anything she gives him at this point.

She still doesn't entertain a conversation with him though. She is guarded and angry at him and for the life of him, he can't understand why.

"You alright?" He asks her and as he expects—all she says is:

"Mhmm."

He can't help but get frustrated with her. He hasn't felt that with her before. They never interacted enough on personal levels for him to become frustrated or annoyed. He expected this to be the moment where the Clarke fantasy began to wither and tear at the seams. When he started to see her flaws and this was the first thing. She closed up, gained a quiet voice and said fine like it was a death sentence. Her Mhmm splintered through her cold façade. He wasn't used to the frigidness and yet somehow, he still just wanted to be around her—hoping to warm her.

"Clarke," He groans out, her name sounding so much longer than one syllable—leaning forward on to rest his elbows on his knees.

"I'm fine, Bellamy." Her voice is stern and precise, leaving no room for argument. He couldn't bring himself to care—he would find room.

"You are not fine. You have barely spoken ten words to me."

Her head whips at a startling speed and he wonders how he didn't hear a crack. Her eyes are cold and the light blue becoming dark, "I am not obligated to talk to you, Bellamy. We aren't friends."

He would unpack what those words did to his emotional stability later. For now, he was angry.

"What the hell is your problem?" He snapped at her.

She lets out a literal growl at him that bordered battle cry. She shoved the blanket off of her, standing up and starting out the room, yelling all the way.

"My problem is that I'm stuck in a house with someone who doesn't even like me half the time and I have my best friend upset with me because I am not there for her to give birth, I don't have my blanket and I miss my brother, and all anyone fucking cares about is if you are going to _fuck_ me! I am not just some concept; I am whole fucking human being!" She yells out at him as she stomps up the stairs and ended her tirade with a slam of the door.

Bellamy stays completely still on his spot from the couch rather shocked by the turn of events. He never quite expected her to say that. Leave it to _fucking_ Murphy to make everything about this isolation being about sex. And the idea alone upset her enough for her to literally stampede through his house. But it didn't bother him like it probably should. No, it upset him that she was so overwhelmed being in this house and she thought he genuinely didn't like her.

He needed to fix this. He would deal with his battered ego but right now, he needed to do anything he could to make these next eleven days as peaceful as possible for her.

* * *

Clarke was in the bathroom, curled up in the tub and trying to decide if drowning herself was the best way to go. She didn't mean to yell at him, she wasn't even angry at him. It was just after phone call with Raven, Clarke sat by herself and every self-depreciating thought entered her mind at rapid pace. She thought of everything she had done wrong in the last few days and beat herself down to the point she was angry and upset and just wanted Lincoln or her blanket. She was an adult, but she had a special blanket that kept her anxiety at bay. She had never slept without it, and because of it she hadn't been sleeping well. Her mom told her it was unhealthy to have the attachment, but her dad gave it to her. She needed her blanket.

She kept thinking over and over about how she wasn't just something to pass the time. She didn't to have sex with anyone to keep them entertained. Rationally, she knew it was rather melodramatic to be this angry, but the cabin fever was starting to hit, and she didn't truly have anyone to talk to.

She is in there for quite some time, she is pretty sure she even fell asleep after a bout of crying silently, but then she woke up to knocking.

"Clarke," His voice is hesitant, filled with worry and it is all her fault.

"I'll be out soon."

He doesn't respond to her and it makes her well up again. She didn't always be this emotional—truthfully. But she gave up trying to hide her emotions and somewhere along that way, that included the emotion of crying all the fucking time. Even commercials upset her easily. Lincoln reasoned with her, telling her she did have a hormonal imbalance clinically that she took medicine for but she—

Her medicine. She didn't even think about her medicine. She had been so caught up that she didn't think about the fact she had a weekly pill that kept her from bleeding and being debilitated by pain. She is supposed to take it tomorrow.

Shit.

She clambered out of the tub, not gracefully and opened the door with even less. She pulled herself together as much as possible and went back down the stairs wanting to find Bellamy and apologize.

"Bell," She called out softly and he appeared from the kitchen.

"Hey," He smiles at her. She always loved his smile. Especially like this, when it is soft and sympathetic.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you." She sighed feeling mortified at the way she acted.

She really wished she could just blame it on her fucked up reproductive organs, but the pride in her refused. Because anyone would assume that meant she was PMSing or that women became unhinged without their pills. It wasn't true, people were allowed to be fucking furious as well as deliriously happy. She wasn't a barbie. And her _fucked up reproductive organs_ did play a role.

"Don't worry about it." He waves her off, like she didn't yell at him about fucking her.

Oh god, she wanted to die.

He turns away and back to the kitchen, telling her he had something for her. She follows him blindly and stops when she sees perched on the counter. Her blanket. It is frail, gray where it used to be blue. Holes from years of her rubbing the material back and forth over her fingers while she did homework. She takes quick steps to it, grabbing it and feeling a weight lifted off of her.

"How—" She doesn't know exactly what to say. What to ask.

"O called after you left, and I asked her about it. I can't fix Lincoln not being here or Raven or any of the other shit. But they can leave a blanket on the front steps, right?" He rambles off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

She can't help herself. She steps close to him and wraps her arms around his neck, tucking her face into his shoulder. He hesitates, arms beside her and she wonders if she overstepped. But then he wraps his own around her waist, tightening with such comfort she feels like she could fall asleep right here. She inhales his natural smell and almost weeps at the gesture.

"Thank you." She whispers against him.

"It's nothing. Lincoln said he was bringing your medicine anyway and some clothes."

She pulls away from him and she doesn't hope he looks disappointed. "Twin telepathy hits again." He looks confused, "I was upstairs and worried I didn't have my medicine."

He shakes his head, "Well it is all there. They didn't bring much. Didn't want to contaminate anything, but now you aren't stuck with just my clothes."

She looks over her shoulder at the small bag that she didn't even notice anymore. She feels a confidence surge within her and she says, "I quite like your clothes."

"If you are lucky, you can even keep them when this is all over." He teases and she can only smile.

She was going to keep her distance. When she woke up this morning, she told herself she wasn't going to fall into her smiles, into his teases. She was supposed to stay casual, stay acquaintances. But he got her blanket and this time, it makes her fall much more than the piece of cake did.


	4. you did a number on me, but, honestly, baby, who's counting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you for the kudos! I am trying my hardest to update but school is in high gear. But here is the new chapter. The formatting is being weird, so hopefully it looks okay! Enjoy.

Clarke was starting to get antsy by day six. She could only play so many games of solitaire and watch so many episodes of the Office before she began to fill like her brain was beginning to liquify. Unlike Bellamy, Clarke didn’t have any home work stuff to do. Bellamy spent the whole day before down in the basement on different conference calls with the teachers and working on the best options for the students. 

From there, he was working on online lectures about a topic she could care less about and she was stuck upstairs, doing nothing of substance and feeling like she was losing her mind. She had painted her nails, she had tried different methods of styling hair with Aurora’s different tools. She had taken a bubble bath, she face timed Octavia, she watched a movie with Lincoln—starting at the same time and discussing it throughout, and played words with friends with Wells.

Wells had been MIA the first few days of quarantine and she figured it was only a matter of time before he came up from his binges of campaigning and realized he hadn’t heard from her. She had known Wells about as long as she had known Raven, though Clarke and Wells were raised together because of parents and not school. She always told people, Wells was the best of them. He had moved away from Arkadia years ago to get away from his father. They didn’t talk much, but they always kept up on their game.

Most likely, her mom had told Wells’ father who had touched based to check in on his future wife. The fact his father was so blind to the fact Wells and Clarke held no type of feelings towards each other was to the point of annoying.

But Clarke was tired of playing words with friends, and doing random things around the house. She was bored and wanted to do anything else in the world then the same things she had continued to do the last six days.

She then remembered Bellamy mentioned the first day there was a game Murphy had brought the last time he was there. She had no idea what the game was but if she could just fine something new, something she had never played—just to add an element of newness. She would take anything at this point.

She found it in the drawer dedicated to card games and was slightly disappointed to see it was a drinking game. She wasn’t a huge drinker, but she was sure she could play with even juice or something or maybe even alcohol if she was feeling crazy.

Clarke was almost giddy taking steps quickly—which in hindsight was not the greatest idea—causing her to slip on hardwood on the last step and right into Bellamy.

“I hate stairs,” She grumbled and felt the vibrations of laughter in his chest.

There’s a moment—in Clarke’s mind it is drawn out, spanning minutes—where she wants to rest her ear to his chest, to hear his breathing and to put it in sync with her own. But she pulls back, knowing they weren’t the type of people for her to rest her head on his chest and instead brightens herself, removes her feelings and presents herself to him the same way she does a patient who doesn’t realize she is struggling with labor.

Somehow, since she became a nurse—it became easier to hide herself from him, to just act like he was just another patient who was having postpartum hemorrhage and you are talking to them like all that blood is supposed to be happening.

“You good?” He asks.

“Of course. Just found a new game and we should play it after dinner!” She shakes the box in front of his face.

He reaches out, steadying the box by placing his hand over her own to read the title.

“Truth or drink?” His brows furrows, “Where’d you get this?”

She opens her mouth to answer but he answers his own questions before she can “Murphys.”

Plural because Raven had just as much stock in this buy as her husband did.

“Yes, and we should play. I can’t keep beating you at gin rummy anymore.” She tells him, pulling her hand away before he notices it has become clammy since he grabbed it.

Clarke walks down the hallway to the kitchen, Bellamy not far behind. “You didn’t beat me that often.”

“Seven times, to be exact.” She reminds him as they make it to the kitchen. She drops the box on the marble countertop and turns back to him, leaning against the counter.

“God, you are so competitive. Have you kept track of every win you have?”

She nods with a smile, arms crossed in pride. “six games of solitaire, seven of gin rummy, one draw on monopoly though I still reserve the right to say if we had continued, I would have won—” She points out and is ready to continue when he stops her.

“Just to be clear, how many wins on mystery date?”

She glares at him and he sucks his lips between his teeth to stop the laughter that is begging to come out.

“That is a game of luck and nothing else. It is ludicrous to brag--”

“Sounds like zero to me,” He shrugs.

“I am making dinner.” She tells him which he has learned in the last six days that she is done with the conversation and that doesn’t mean he won this round.

Bellamy winning would just cause her to want to argue more aggressively. Her competitiveness was definitely a quality about her he didn’t realize she held but found it quite amusing. Her whole demeanor changed when she was tested. Her eyes sharpened almost to a squint, her eyes asking him if he was really wanting to do this? Her lips tightened, her skin flushed and she almost glowed red. When she got really invested in a game, analyzing her next move, the tip of tongue peeked out from behind her lips, and she was in such a state of concentration to not lose.

He enjoyed it too much, to the point, he found reasons to bring it out of her. The smallest things pulled out the streak in her and it was endearing. One night, they were brushing their teeth together—the peak of domesticity and he craved more of it—when he noticed the gleam in her eyes and he realized even brushing teeth could be turned into a chance for her to win.

Bellamy doesn’t help with dinner. He learned quickly she liked to do it by herself—she liked to do most things by herself, she was incredibly independent almost to a fault—and she would push him out the way and slap his hand when he would reach for a bite before it was done.

He instead liked to watch her, seated at the breakfast bar, not in her seat of course, he watched as she moved through his kitchen with such ease. It did something to him, almost made him sad and made his chest tighten at how easy it was for her to fit into his home, to fit into life with him. He knew it was because this is practically where she grew up. She knew where the cups, the plates, the utensils were. She knew the faulty light, the creaky board. She knew because this is the place she considered home because it was where Octavia was. But it didn’t stop Bellamy from frowning at the thought it didn’t matter how long he and Echo were together—it was never going to be this was. Echo was never going to feel comfortable like Clarke. And that isn’t bad—Lincoln had never been fully comfortable here, it didn’t make him and Octavia any less perfect for each other.

But with Echo, it was like she always wanted more from him, his whole heart, his whole soul. He just didn’t have it to give to her.

Maybe that’s why when she calls him in the middle of Clarke making dinner, he almost doesn’t answer. He almost lets it ring and he almost forgets all about her. But the look Clarke gave him was enough to answer the phone and be a decent man for once in his life.

“Hey,” He breathes as he starts up the stairs and into his room.

“You’re ignoring me,” She tells him, not in the mood for pleasantries and he doesn’t even have the energy to fight her on it because she isn’t wrong.

He was because talking to Echo made him feel worse about the havoc currently taking place in his mind. Talking to her reminded him that he didn’t have anything with Clarke and his relationship was withering away. But it was in stunning clarity to him that if Clarke wasn’t there, if Clarke didn’t exist, his relationship with Echo would still tumble with just one shake.

“Echo,” was all Bellamy knew to say anymore.

“You’re ignoring me cause you aren’t there alone. I know you aren’t and I can’t understand why you can’t just say who is there. Why is it such--”

The abrupt stop meant she knew. The harsh intake of breath and he knew she figured out just why he was so secretive, why he was holding his roommate so protectively behind him so no one could see.

“Clarke.” She says, no room for argument. He stays quiet, breathes in and out twice before she begins again, “Of course it is. Your precious Clarke. I must know, Bellamy. Now that you have fucked her do you realize she doesn’t need to be on the pedestal you righted her on?”

“I haven’t--” He breathes harshly, plopping down onto his bed and staring at his gray walls, “She is a friend, Echo.”

“No, she isn’t. She is Octavia’s friend. She is not _your_ friend; she is just the one you can’t seem to let go of this fantasy with.” Echo is harsh in her spat words. She always had been.

“You don’t know what you are talking about, Echo.”

Because she didn’t. Clarke wasn’t a fantasy; Clarke wasn’t just out of reach. Clarke was just there, a piece of him he had long given up fighting. She festered his way into his heart long before he met Echo, long before he met Gina. And sure, maybe Gina saw it a little more, from times where she’d see Bellamy watch Clarke from across the cafeteria in high school. Or the way Clarke cheered him on at his games.

But to Echo, Clarke should be a secret. Clarke and Echo had only been in a room together a handful of times, she shouldn’t see the way he wanted to be around her, just being in her presence was enough for his breathing to become a little easier.

“You aren’t as subtle as you think, Bellamy.” She hissed, “And I told Gina she was wrong but she wasn’t.”

Bellamy scoffed, “Gina?”

“You and I started dating and I saw Gina at a bar. And you know what she said?” Echo paused for Bellamy to answer but he wasn’t giving her the satisfaction, “She told me she wasn’t the one I should be worried about. She never kept your attention off Clarke long enough for you to love anyone but her.”

“I don’t love her, Echo.” He settles with. Not wanting to unpack Gina’s words. Not wanting to discuss the love he may or may not have for the woman just downstairs making him dinner who had a fucking boyfriend.

“But do you love me?” She asks and Bellamy does hear the sadness in her voice. Because for all Echo’s faults, she did love him, didn’t she?

“Of course,” Is what he says but even he hears the lie. Because he didn’t know anymore. He didn’t know before this quarantine. He didn’t know if he loved her or if he was just lonely.

“I don’t believe you.”

And he didn’t believe himself either. But he didn’t want to say that. Because he didn’t want to hurt her.

“Echo--”

“I think I need some time.”

He nods. They had broken up a few times in the last year or so. And it always started with her telling him she needed time. And he said okay, and the next day she was texting him. But this time, he wanted it to stay final. Not because of anything other than because he was so tired of this feeling of putting on with her all the time.

“Bye, Bellamy.”

She hangs up, all that is left is dead air and Bellamy feels like the pressure on his chest isn’t so heavy anymore. He tosses his phone on his bed and shuffles down the steps with only a hint of sadness at the finality end of his relationship.

He smells dinner, the Mexican spices invading his senses, the tacos shell and toppings all laid out for him to make.

"Dinner is ready,” Clarke smiles brightly, spinning around him, oblivious to the conversation he just had, “And then the game.”

He can only smile at her happiness with use of hand gestures as she speaks and think of nothing else.

* * *

It’s forty minutes later, when the dishes are cleaned, and the food is put away, that Clarke has set the piles of cards and is rummaging through the fridge for something to drink for their game. She has one hand on the top of the door, the other on her hip and slightly tilted forward to look.

“Okay, so our options are as follows,” She pauses for dramatic effect, “Milk, OJ, water, or Sherry.”

“What the hell is Sherry?” He asks, stepping away from the counter and looking over her shoulder.

“Your mom uses it for her beef stroganoff recipe.” She tells him like he definitely should know that.

“Well, let’s use that. Make it interesting.” He shrugs.

She smiles, like she knows something he doesn’t but still she shuts the door and turns to grab the wine from its spot at the top of the fridge. She grabs two shot glasses and then they take their spots across from each other at the table.

“Okay, so I pull a card. You can either answer and if you don’t want to, you have to take a shot, okay?”

He nods, the game is rather self-explanatory and she pulls the first question.

“If you had to sleep with one person in this room, who would it be?” She reads it and he can tell she didn’t fully comprehend the question or that the game would be asking rather personal questions. Her lip being bit in confusion causes a slight chuckle from him.

“You’re the only person in the room. This isn’t really fair.” He tells her even though in reality, the answer would probably be her in most rooms.

“Is that your way of saying you aren’t answering?” She quirks an eyebrow, lifting the bottle of sherry towards his glass.

He pauses, and then rolls his eyes, “Yes, I guess I am not answering.”

“Oh yay, you have to drink.” She grins, pouring the wine into his glass.

He shakes his head at her eagerness to see him fail, and doesn’t hesitate to throw the shot glass back. And then the wine rushes over his taste buds, burning down his throat at how dry it is and he sputters through the end to see Clarke giggling.

“Fuck, that is disgusting,” he mutters, staring at the glass looking very offended.

“I know.” She is still laughing, to the point of holding a hand to her chest when he pulls a card for her.

“What’s the last thing you cried over?” He asks her, assuming it was some point during this quarantine. Probably three days prior during the whole blanket fiasco.

She looks up at the ceiling, humming and trying to decipher the last thing she cried about, “Oh, this morning. Lincoln and I watched one of the nightmare on elm streets.”

He looks at her rather flabbergasted. “And that made you cry?”

“Well Dan died and I really liked him.” She shrugged,

“Dan?”

“It would take way too much time for me to explain Dan.” She scoffs, like Dan is very major character that would take hours to explain.

(Hours later, when he googles it, it takes him five minutes to know all about Dan’s character—from the moment of introduction to the moment Freddy killed him)

“What is your magic number?” She asks.

Bellamy hesitates because he isn’t totally sure. There were a few nights in college he doesn’t exactly remember.

“Are you not answering?” He sees the glint in her eyes, and he knows she is keeping score of this scoreless game. 

“I’m thinking, princess” He corrects.

“Oh, come on, how hard can it be?” She asks and he playfully glares at her. “I guess not everyone’s is one, then.” She mumbles it.

He isn’t surprised by that. She and Finn had been on and off since high school.

“I am going to say in the twenties.” He doesn’t leave room for discussion because his sex life is not something he wants to talk about to Clarke, unless it is their shared sex life.

She just nods, trying not to think about his standards must not be too high if it is in the twenties, yet somehow still doesn’t want her. Oh wow, that is not exactly the strong female type should be saying. 

“How often do you fake orgasms?” He asks and she stills.

Clarke reddens and he reaches for the bottle of wine, wondering if her pride to win is stronger than her fear to answer.

Clarke doesn’t want to answer. It is embarrassing for her to talk about her sex life with Bellamy, but she chose the damn game and she was going to win it even if Bellamy says there are no points. So, she steels herself, takes a few seconds of courage and says. “Like once every four times.”

“Does Finn know that number is so high?” He asks and she wonders if he really meant for the words to come out.

She doesn’t want to do this with him. Talk about her orgasms, but she can’t help but say: “You know it is very common for girls to struggle to orgasm every time even if the guy is great.”

“You don’t have to defend it. Just knowing Finn,” He tapers off.

Yet she knows she he means. Finn would be upset with that number. Finn would tell her she was wrong or tell her she just needed to learn to relax. In reality, Finn wouldn’t believe it. Finn would believe the lack of spontaneity in her sex life was just in her head. That he didn’t make her feel boring.

“Next question,” She tells him brightly, ignoring the pit in her stomach and the lack of excitement in her sex life, “Who’s the most inappropriate person you have fantasized about?”

Bellamy doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t give himself a chance to even fabricate a lie in his mind. He grabs the bottle from her hand, fills the cup himself and takes the shot in one remorseful gulp. Because there was no way in hell Bellamy was about to tell Clarke Griffin all the nasty things he has thought about doing to her over the years.

“Well, then. From that response, it was probably Murphy.” She grumbles and he laughs.

He grabs a card before she can try to pull it out of him. “What is the closest thing you have to come to cheating?”

The room feels thicker with each word he says and Clarke feels all bout suffocated by the final syllable. This was such a stupid game to play. How could she say it was him? How could she explain the crumbling of her relationship was Bellamy Blake and all of his fucking glory?

Would she start with there was a time where she missed Finn all the time, when she couldn't wait to get home and tell him about her day. But as days and years passed, he seemed to not miss her. So she stopped missing him. Their conversations became one sided and soon, she just stopped talking all together.

He never stopped her. He seemed to relish in her not speaking to him.

That hurt more than silence.

Or maybe she would tell Bellamy, that maybe if they were stronger, in a better place, it would be easier to not get lost in Bellamy every time she saw him, even if it was months apart. In his eyes, his smile, his smell. It would be easier to not want to fall into him if she knew the man she had been with for so long still wanted her.

Or maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything. Maybe even at the pinnacle of her relationship with Finn, Bellamy could have destroyed it if he really ever wanted to try.

So she lets him pour her a glass and she gags down the wine and keeps her embarrassing love for the man in front tucked away in side her heart and takes a deep breath before the next question, “What’s the biggest lie you ever told a significant other?”

She doesn’t look at him as she asks because if she would have, she would have seen the sadness cross his face as he remembered the conversation he had with his now ex-girlfriend when she asked him if he still loved her, and if he loved Clarke.

And he can’t help but wonder if he lied both times.

So he drinks.

“You suck at this game. You don’t answer anything.” She tells him, but the fun nature from the beginning of the game is now gone.

“What’s the biggest secret you have?” He asks instead of commenting and she stares at him.

Clarke wavers, feeling like the game was toying with her, breaking her piece by piece. She doesn’t even make a show of drinking.

“Seems like you suck to, princess.”

It in a rather sad turn of events, the game becomes ask a question, drink. Back and forth with silence hanging between them and the wine not doing anything to lessen the tension. Finally, Bellamy says one last one to end the night, pulling the card and says:

“What’s the most embarrassing thing you have ever had happen during sex?”

And he assumes she is going to grab the bottle, both long given up on the ceremonious shot glass and taken to swigs from the bottle.

So the shock is there when she says,

“I said the wrong name.”

Bellamy had been staring at the card, not looking at her and he glances up in a rather befuddled way. “You—you said the wrong name.”

She nods, not giving him anything and he doesn’t think he wants to know who Clarke is fantasizing about when she is with Finn.

“How’d Finn take that?” He asks.

She sighs, “He assumed I was cheating on him, I wasn’t. And then he broke up with me.”

Bellamy is shocked. He just assumed they were together. Bellamy and Clarke weren’t the type to talk about relationships, so he just assumed everything was just as how it had always been. And for it to end in such a way. Because she said someone else’s name—it was all so insane for him to believe.

And it rattled him that is in his mind his next thought was the fact this was the first time since they were teenagers, that he and Clarke were single at the same time. Not that it mattered.

“And the other one? The name you said—do they know?”

Clarke stares at him and she thinks if she does long enough, she can get him to understand.

_You._

_You._

_You._

How could he not see? How could he not tell? Was he just being kind or was he truly this oblivious to see she fell apart at the seams around him? She wants to scream it, to finally just say the truth and accept the fate of him being appalled. But she is a coward and instead of telling the truth and letting it fall as it may, she says:

"No and he probably never will.”

And Clarke can’t help but think how stupid this game and—

_Fucking Murphys._


	5. there’s something about you, tears me inside out whenever you’re around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am again! I don't remember the last time I had this much inspiration! 
> 
> The song they listen to is Mother, we just can't get enough by New Radicals. I listened to it the whole time I wrote the chapter lol. hence the chapter name 
> 
> Enjoy!

The game causes a rift between them neither realize the other feels. Bellamy goes to bed quickly when the game ends. Not wanting to be in the same room with her. He didn’t want to be around her anymore. Not when not only was she not with Finn, there was someone else—someone else that still wasn’t him. How stupid was he to think the reason he and Clarke never had anything was because they weren’t single. It is because Echo was right—she was just a fantasy.

Clarke cries herself to sleep—hiding her sobs into her blanket, blaming the wine for pushing her over the edge of feeling completely broken. It was nothing he said, nothing he answered. That would require Bellamy to give her anything other than placating smiles. No, it is from what she said, what the questions opened up in her as she was reminded over and over again just how far gone she was with him. How much her wanting him had ruined the only relationship she had. How she had broken Finn, how she had lied to Octavia, how she had lied to herself. And for him to feel nothing towards her. Nothing at all.

They don’t speak the next day. Just two ships passing each other and keeping enough space between the two to never worry about crashing into the other. She cleaned for Aurora. She vacuumed, she did the laundry, she cleaned the bathrooms. Anything she could think of to make it easy for Aurora once she got home in seven days. He stayed in the basement, working away on his first day of online class She made dinner, left it on the heating tray for him to find.

God, how could she still have seven days of this absolute torture? How could she be near him, breathing the same air as him without feeling like she was suffocating. Like she was being doused with bucket after bucket after bucket of ice-cold water. Maybe she needed her heart to break. She needed the lump in her through, the ache in her chest. Her only hope is if her heart broke into a million pieces and she put herself back together, the piece made just for him was forgotten, not even a memory to look back on. Maybe then she could move on from him.

Her phone rings right as she is getting ready for bed on that seventh day, a whole day without Bellamy except for hearing him as he moved around one level below. She thinks about now answering, assuming this would not be an enjoyable call, but she needed anyone to talk to you that wasn’t Bellamy.

“Hello,” She’s tired—so emotionally drained that she can only lay in the bed and put the phone to her ear, balanced on her cheek as she snuggles into the bed, pulling the thick comforter around her.

“Hey, Clarke.” He says, his voice muddled from the background, sounding like music.

“What do you want, Finn?” She sighs, because if this is about to be a drunk call, she is fully not in the mood.

“I heard you were quarantined. Wanted to make sure you were okay,” His voice is clearer now and he must have walked outside, away from his friends.

“I am okay.”

“Are you sure about that?” He questions because they might have ended badly, with Finn yelling at her, punching a hole in the wall, and calling her terrible things, but he did know her about as well as she knew herself.

She doesn’t answer him. Just breathes, knowing he will figure it out himself anyway.

“I was out with Jasper. He said you are stuck with Blake.” He pauses, takes a breath and she wonders why. What is he about to say to her?

Insult her, tell her she got what she wanted. Or is he assuming still, even now that she cheated on him. When she didn’t, she would never had done that. She didn’t mean for it to happen. Didn’t mean to say Bellamy’s name. It was just a moment, a quick flash of a moment where she thought of his brown eyes, his shaggy hair, his dark tone and it just came out of her, without her even knowing.

“Are you gonna tell him?”

“Tell him what?” She asks him, defiantly—refusing to ever admit she felt anything for Bellamy to Finn of all people.

“Clarke,” He groans.

Clarke sits up, legs stretched and she holds the phone to her ear with one hand and the other holds up her head as her elbow rests on her thigh.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You are in love with him, Clarke. Why not just save us all the hassle and just fucking tell him?” He snaps at her, but it isn’t anger. She doesn’t think it is. She thinks it frustration, acceptance and being over being the footnote she made him out to be.

“I’m not,” she says weakly, wetly. Because she can’t be. How can you be in love with someone without personally knowing them? Of course, she knew Bellamy, but she didn’t know him like she knew Finn.

Or Wells, or Raven or even fucking Murphy. She always kept Bellamy at arm’s length just out of reach for him to do any real damage. It was just infatuation, lust from looking for so long from afar. It couldn’t be anymore that. She liked him, she wanted him, she cared for him, but she didn’t love him. She didn’t want to love him. Not when it felt like this all the time.

“You are, love.” He says it so sadly, using the name that so easily became her pet name, aged from years of use.

“Finn,” she is almost whimpering from such a hellish day and refusing to admit to Finn that she cared about someone that wasn’t him.

“And that’s okay. I know, that night, I was a right dick. But you can’t keep lying to yourself because you don’t want to hurt me.”

This is so unlike Finn, who is crass and impulsive and quick-tempered. This Finn sounds matured, content, and definitely not like his breaking apart like hers is.

“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel that way.”

“Even if that is true, it doesn’t mean you don’t. And if he doesn’t, then you have to at least admit to yourself and then move on.” He tells her so forcefully, with so much conviction that she can’t imagine how she couldn’t love him like she was supposed to.

“I’m sorry,” She sighs, so incredibly broken from what she did to him.

“Well, very rarely does the bad boy actually get to keep the girl.” She hears it then, the brokenness in his voice, betraying he is not quite over her and he is not as confident by losing her as he has made it sound.

“I love you, Clarke. And I probably always will.” He takes a breath, “But we both know I never stood a chance.”

And then he hangs up, ripping the cord and causing a harsh breath out of Clarke like he just shot her up with a dose of Narcan, her breathing unsteady and she couldn’t even take a full breath.

He was wrong, she didn’t love Bellamy.

_No._

_No._

Loving Bellamy was betrayal to her own heart because if she did, if she loved him—which she didn’t of course—but if she did—

She couldn’t help but want to ask anyone who would answer her—what are you supposed to do when you fall in love and they forget to love you back?

* * *

Bellamy was doing his best to focus on his work, but it was hard. She was being so cold, and as per usual he couldn’t figure out why. The morning after game, he didn’t want to be around her, thinking about the other guy that she dreamed about, but by night, when he found his dinner waiting for him, he realized quite quickly that after six days of her—he didn’t quite know how to do it without her.

So he gave her a day, one day where they avoided each other, where they didn’t speak and though a piece of him asked if she was finally annoyed with him—on day eight he made sure to be up early.

He sits at the breakfast table, sipping his coffee and reading through his lesson plan for the following when she walks in. She is still waking up, rubbing her eyes, her hair falling around her, frizzy and clearly half of it is still hooked in a hair bow. She is wearing a pair of shorts that he isn’t totally sure where they came from, but they look familiar in the checkered design and the jacket he let her borrow. He likes to think that is a good sign. Her high knee socks are covered in stethoscopes and she is wearing a pair of slippers and he can’t help but think she looks right adorable when she first wakes up.

“Hey,” He grins, and she jumps, tripping in her step and grabbing for the fridge door to steady herself.

“Shit.” She grumbles, before going to get her morning coffee—already made because he made sure to be up to make it.

“Sorry,” He says, but he doesn’t feel sorry. In fact, he almost feels giddy. Why he wanted to be away from her was beyond him.

“You’re up early.” She tells him and he knows. He purposely woke up early to make sure he was seated in the exact spot that he was so that he could enjoy her company. Because, okay, she might not want him in the way he wanted her, but if the past eight days taught him anything, it was the fact he enjoyed being around her.

He would take her friendship at this point if it meant he got to be around her.

He can feel she is holding back, and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what was done to cause her to become she closed off around him.

“What are you doing today?” He asks, pushing up and out of the chair and heading over to where she is pouring her coffee.

He sets his own cup beside hers and she doesn’t hesitate to fill his and push him the bowl of sugar and hand the spoon she is holding. How does she know how he likes his coffee already? How does it felt so comfortable?

“Haven’t really put much thought into it.”

“I don’t have to work today. We can do whatever you want.” Bellamy tells her.

Clarke looks at him, his hopeful eyes and she wants to tell him no. Why is it with anyone else, she can ignore, but with Bellamy she can’t follow through on it? Especially when he is so close to her and she can smell his body wash, and the coffee on his tongue. She wants to say no, continue to be cold and aloof and stay up in her room away from him.

But she only had six days left with him. Shouldn’t she just accept what she could get at this point?

She sighs.

And he knows his Clarke is back.

* * *

They fall back into their routine with ease, they watch a movie, they stop for lunch, they play games, she talks him into another round of yoga and she does no better than she did the first time. It’s nearly three o clock when they are sitting side by side on the couch eating out of a bag of chips, heads lolled back against the back of the couch and enraptured by the show they are watching.

“She totally killed her husband.” Clarke says entranced.

“Totally.” He agrees. His phone vibrates and Clarke takes it as a chance to take a few more chips when he isn’t occupied with the bag.

He groans, tossing his phone away from him like it has personally offended him.

“What are the odds there will still be the wedding in two months?”

The wedding his is referring to is Miller and Monty’s and the same one he is best man in. She was invited of course, but still not even decided if she was going to commit to going or not. Growing up in Arkadia with only so many people, everyone was someone how connected.

Monty’s best friend Jasper is close to Finn.

Miller grew up with Gina.

And then Bellamy with Echo.

Three people she really didn’t want to be in same room with. Gina hated her, she broke Finn’s heart and Echo dangled Bellamy off her finger like she was mocking Clarke.

All of which led to not a fun day for one Clarke Griffin.

“Most likely.” She crunches on the perfect kettle chip, “Why?”

“Miller is harassing me and Murphy about how we are going to have to dance and I am not good at it and I would rather have my legs chopped off.”

Clarke pauses the show and gives him her full attention. “It isn’t that hard. If I can do it, anyone can do it.”

“I disagree.”

She huffs at him, standing up and brushing the crumbs off her. “Stand up, we are doing this.”

She isn’t totally sure what made her decide to do that. To get him to dance with her. She wasn’t actually that good at dancing and any time she did dance with Finn, it came off stilted and awkward and she never knew where to put her hands. But in that moment, she had no control in wanting just a moment with him.

He looks at her confused and she is about to call the whole thing a joke—one never to be spoken about again, but then he stands.

Shit. Now she actually has to dance with him.

She pushes the coffee table out of their way, picks up her phone and picks a song and puts it on repeat.

“This isn’t exactly a slow song, Clarke.” He informs her when she tosses the phone back to the sofa.

“But it is a good one. And we can definitely dance to it.”

She is jittery as she puts her hands on his shoulders to move him to the center of the room. He goes to where she directs him and then before she loses all of her courage, she takes a step closer to him. The tips of her slippers are touching his bare feet and it definitely the closest she has even been to him other than the two times she has given him a hug.

“One hand will go here,” She grabs his wrist, and places his open palm against her side.

She praises herself for not shuddering, for not giving away just how terrified she was of this moment with him. Especially after her talk with Finn the night before. She can feel his warmth through the sweatshirt she is wearing and swears she will have a marking later on from the heat.

“And this one here,” she says as she grabs his hand, and holds it in her own. She hopes he doesn’t feel her radial pulse starting to thump in tandem with her heart. His hands are rough, filled with callouses from a bat and it scrapes against his small soft ones.

She places her arm on his shoulder, and then slides it around his neck to be more comfortable. He hasn’t taken his eyes off her, watching every move she makes with great precision

“And then you just move back and forth.” She tells him just as the song starts back over.

The beats going and the voice says hey over and over again. The song is rather fitting for her feelings for him, even if he doesn’t know and probably never will. He is rather dense it seems. They sway back and forth for the first time the song goes through.

Never more than back and forth and back and forth. It is nice and he is more focused on not stepping on her feet than anything else. She is trying not to think too much into the fact she is dancing in her pjs with Bellamy in his living room. Instead she just lets herself enjoy it.

She expects him to pull away as the song fades out, but he tightens high grip on her waist and the beat starts up again.

It’s during the second run through of the song that they start to move more. He pulls her closer, tightening his grip on her and she tucks her chin to her chest so he can’t see her gulp. They began to move faster, more in sync with the tempo of the song.

Her hand is no longer limply at his neck but holding it, rubbing her fingers back and forth against is skin, a movement so intimate to her that she can’t even understand why she is doing it but the idea of stopping never enters her mind.

She yelps in surprise when he pushes her away only to spin her under his extended arm. She laughs after she is pulled back into him, letting loose and swaying happily to the music with him. It’s the most natural thing she has ever done, no awkwardness like with Finn.

Then she looks at him. And he looks at her and she can’t pull away. They stare at each other as they dance, sway, twirl, dip. It’s the most innocent dance, but she feels like she is bursting at the seams. Her chest is heaving, her body is vibrating at the feeling of him. She’s humming to the song, moving herself to the music and feeling lighter than she has in days.

He pushes her out again, and she laughs as she spins underneath him, thinking to question him on why he swears he can’t dance when she is having the time of her life. The beat is building and she is getting dizzy from the spinning and the spinning only when he pulls her back to him.

And for the rest of her life, she will swear he pulled her into his lips and him only.


	6. our every moment, I start to replace, 'cause now that they're gone, all I hear are the words that I needed to say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is really short because I am in a bit of bind with school. Took an OB test this morning, and still have two finals to go. But in between finishing the last test and starting studying for the new one -- i wrote this.
> 
> There's only a few chapters left and after my last final next Wednesday--I will get them up before summer school starts. Thank you for all the kudos! 
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe out there.

As quickly as their lips touched, Clarke pulls away. It is everything she ever wanted, but not like this. Not because they are bored and lonely and when he has someone waiting for him.

She pulls herself out of his arms, shaking her head viciously. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

His eyes are wide, staring at her like he didn’t mean to. Like this is all on her, like he didn’t pull her up to meet him.

Didn’t he?

She didn’t just do it herself. There is no way.

Her heart is beginning to crack, she almost feels the blood pouring out her body and wouldn’t be surprised if she saw blood seeping through her sweatshirt.

“Clarke,” His tone is nervous as though he wrangling a wild animal.

She doesn’t want to talk to him, she doesn’t want to hear him letting her down easily. She can’t hear him say he loves Echo, that he would never want her.

“Leave it alone, Bellamy.” She turns around, her feet moving without her brain on. She was on autopilot, felt like she was going to pass out from the lack of oxygen.

“I don’t want to leave it alone,” He is hot on her feels, following through the house.

She doesn’t turn, she doesn’t face him. If she sees his face emitting pity she will break. He can’t see her like this. He can’t see her heart shattering. How could she do this? How could she kiss him? It ruins everything.

“Well, I do.” She shrugs, holding onto the railing as she rushes up the stairs. The last thing she needs is to fall and back into his arms.

“Will you just stop for a second?” He is practically begging, and she stops at the top of the stairs.

He stays steps below her, gripping the railing tight. He has one foot on one step and the other on the step above the other. He is looking at her with a look she can’t decipher. His emotions not on full display like hers were. She wanted to hide hers like he did, protect herself from his words and not ever let him see it was breaking her.

“I don’t _want_ to talk about it,” She enunciates slowly, “It was a mistake and barely even happened and we are not going to discuss something so stupid because you are lonely without your girlfriend.”

He opens his mouth but she holds up a hand, “Don’t. Don’t try to make me feel better, don’t tell me you didn’t mean to. Just _let it go._ ”

She doesn’t wait for a response, and he doesn’t come after her. She locks the door to the Octavia’s room and lets the silent sob emit as she slides down the door.

She would never forgive herself for this.

And she would never allow him to get close to her again.

\--- ----

Bellamy sat outside her door, legs outstretched and head leaned against the wall. He didn’t know how it happened, he didn’t know if it was him or if it was her. He was caught up in the moment with her with her laughing, being carefree and they danced together like it was something they did all the time.

She looked so betrayed when it happened. He had encroached on their fragile friendship all because of wanting to be with her. And now she couldn’t even look at him. It had been three hours, the sun was beginning to set and all he could hear were occasional sniffles from the other side.

He couldn’t even think about the fact they had kissed, that for the first time ever he had fucking kissed Clarke. He couldn’t even enjoy it, he couldn’t even remember it. It ended before it even began.

And yet somehow it caused a clusterfuck in this house.

He wants to explain it to her, but he didn’t want to ruin it further. He didn’t want to lose the small piece of them they had, the small piece they had built over the years and solidified in the last eight days.

It had been three hours, three hours of him sitting in this one spot and she hadn’t said a word to him and it was killing him.

He sighs, and tries to decide what to say—anything that could make this better, to take away the turmoil ravaging through her.

“Echo and I broke up,” He starts because he never wants her to think he was using her as the other woman.

Clarke was so much more than that.

His indignant scoff told him that didn’t change anything.

“I just wanted you to know you aren’t—we aren’t cheaters,” He struggles with his words because he knows it is bothering her. He knows that even if she doesn’t want him in that way, the thought of being a cheater would kill her.

“We don’t have to talk about, if it meant nothing, it meant nothing,” He stands up and he is ready to let it be done. He is ready to leave and to be ignored for the next six days with his pride intact.

He is a step into his room when something in him shifts. Clarity clears his mind and he realizes, for the first time, there is nothing stopping him but himself to tell her the truth. And if doesn’t do it now, if he doesn’t take this opportunity he would never get another chance. She would never let himSo even if it ruins them, ruins him, she deserves to know this wasn’t because he is lonely. She is more than that. She always has been.

He is back to her door, his hands on side of the door and he leans his head against the door. His heart is pounding and he knows he is about to change everything.

“It didn’t mean nothing, princess,” He says with a deep sigh, “It isn’t because of I’m bored or because of Echo. We broke up because of you, Gina and I broke up because of you.”

He pauses, he lets her digest the information and then he pushes on, “I have long accepted wanting you, Clarke. And even if this is one-sided, you need to know I kissed you because I wanted to and for no other reason.”

The door doesn’t open like he wants it to, she doesn’t jump into his arms like he never expected. Instead, it is just silence and it breaks him into pieces. This was the beginning of getting over her, it just was gonna be hell for a while.

\--- -----

Clarke was still leaning against the door, her tears long dried up and her head resting on her knees. Her fingers glide against her blanket, trying to soak up the warmth nothing would give her.

She was content with staying right here and letting her heart break but then he spoke. He told her the truth and she was shocked to silence. She couldn’t move—she couldn’t breathe.

He _wanted_ her. He had broken up with girlfriends _because_ of her. She felt like it was a cruel joke but Bellamy was never one to be cruel just oblivious. But maybe she was oblivious to because she never once, in all the years she had known him, had ever thought he saw her in any way but nuisance.

He _wanted_ her.

He kissed her because he _wanted_ her.

She still felt an inkling that she was a rebound, that he had a girlfriend less than twenty-four hours ago. But it doesn’t stop her from standing up, and staring at herself in the mirror. She looked like hell, her eyes were puffy and red, her lips with swollen from her gnawing on them. She didn’t have a chance to make herself look better.

Fuck it.

She isn’t sure what she is going to say, what she is going to do but all she knows is that their miscommunication had caused years of problems between the two of them and this time she was going to be honest.

She knocks on his door, her heart in her throat.

He answers looking just as lost as her and the only thing she knows to say is.

“It was you,” She tells him, feeling more confident than she expected.

“What?” He raised a brow, his hand still on the door, ready to shut her out.

“The name I said,” She clarified with a heavy shrug, “It was you.”


	7. you could break my heart in two but when it heals, it beats for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is done--for a few weeks and then right back to it. But I was able to crank this chapter out. Only two more to go! I wanted to make this chapter good and so it took a few tries but I think I got it to where I wanted it. I hope you enjoy and I hope everyone is safe and healthy where they are!

His exhale is one of relief, his body relaxes, his smile is evident. It’s as though he’s genuinely relieved to hear her words. In seconds she is against the wall beside his bedroom, his lips back on hers.

Clarke sighs against him, finally feeling him against her in the way she always wanted. His lips massage her own, it’s slow and methodic and in one kiss Clarke feels more than sex with Finn. Her hands are fisted in his shirt, his hands are cupping her cheeks and he pulls away, his eyes freezing her in place.

“Remember the question about choosing a person in the room?” He is out of breath and she nods, really wanting to get back to the kissing.

“It didn’t matter if it was just you or a room full, it is still you,” he confesses and she thinks, just possibly, her heart is going to stop working.

It is palpating, off sinus rhythm and she is nearing needing a shock to the system to remind her that this is real—he is real and he wants her.

And he has this whole time. They both tiptoed around each other never realizing all they needed was to tell the truth. She grabs the back of his neck, pulling him back down to meet her. Their teeth are clashing, she moans into his mouth and then he pulls away to trail kisses down her neck.

Her hands tangle in his hair, and he steps backwards and turns them around and back into his room. It’s dark, the only noises are the sounds of their mouths moving against each other, their shallow breaths, and wind of the not yet spring breeze.

They stand there for minutes, just moving their lips against each other, making up for the last decade. How long had she missed out on this with him just because she was afraid?

She should never be afraid again, never let herself give up without at least being honest with herself. Because the truth was, she had been in love with this man for so many years she couldn’t even remember when it started. All she knew was she never wanted it to end. She wanted to stay in their middle and never move away from it.

He removes his mouth from her own and she doesn’t worry he is going to stop them because for the first time, she knows he wouldn’t be stopping this for the end of the world.

He trails down her neck, his hands massaging her skin, her own never stopping, moving back and forth between his shoulders, his cheeks, his hair. She didn’t know where she wanted to stay, she wanted to feel every piece of him, always. She was trying to focus on which parts of him touched her, what they felt like against her but all she could focus on was his name and how she didn’t have to hold it in.

_Bellamy._

_Bellamy._

_Bellamy._

She didn’t have to focus on who was touching her, who was now cupping her breasts because it was the person she wanted, and she could feel his want for her just as much.

“Bell,” she sighs, pushing him away so she could pull his shirt over his head and she couldn’t help the exhale of pleasure at the sight of him, she didn’t avert her eyes away from his naked chest. She drank him in, and her eyes met his lust filled ones as she removed her own t-shirt and there is a moment where her mind can’t help the _holy shit, I’m in front of Bellamy Blake topless._

Fifteen-year-old Clarke was somewhere giving her a round of applause. She doesn’t feel the need to cover up, instead reaching out for him to be against her again, whimpering when his skin came in contact with hers for the first time.

Every inch of her burned at the feel of him, every nerve ending tingling and firing so quickly she felt like she might spontaneously combust and honestly, what a way to go. His mouth is rough against her own, her hair starting to be pulled to a point of pain and she claws at his shoulders, giving just as much as she received. She bucks her hips towards him and grips tighter as those restraining her to stay right where she is.

“Not yet, princess,” His voice is hoarse against her lips and dripping with lust and she moans without even trying to hold it in.

“Bed, Bellamy,” She forces out trying to sound stern, to sound demanding but all she hears is a whisper, a plea.

She had never wanted anything more in her life than in that moment. She wanted all of him and wanted to feel the heavy weight on top of her. She wanted to feel full and feel his hair tickle her skin as he thrusted in and out of her. She could almost feel herself dripping just at the thought of what they were about to do, and she rubbed her legs together, but her yoga pants gave absolutely none of the friction she wanted.

The kiss turns soft, torturous as he comes to hold her face in his hands gently, massaging her lips like she is his need to live—like every moment of his life has led up to this one moment.

Or is that what she feels?

She doesn’t know, she can’t even fathom anything but his smile against her lips and the way he has backed them up to his bed. His smell is attacking her senses from all over, from his clothes, to his sheets, to himself. Everywhere she moved, she was assaulted by the smell that lingered in her mind ever since they were teenagers. It was a mixture of cinnamon and coffee that always stuck to him no matter if he washed, if he brushed his teeth—Bellamy probably bled coffee and cinnamon probably shook from his hair.

She wasn’t sure how she made it to lying on the bed, Bellamy pulling her pants off and the cool air causes goosebumps to appear on the spots where he had not yet explored. He goes to get on top of her and she pouts at him.

“Why am I the only one naked?”

He chuckles at her, and with a shake of the head and a mumble of whatever the princess wants, he is completely naked, and she can’t help the gulp at the dips of his abs, his strong arms and all the way down to his very erect penis.

_Shit._

She stops breathing, she really thinks she does and then she is practically drooling, and she reaches out for him and then _finally,_ he is back with her. She sighs again, she can’t stop, when he settles in between her legs and pushes his hair back from her face, grinning down at her.

She beams back at him and he tilts her chin up and goes right back to his assault of kissing every piece of her. He starts with her neck, licking from the base to her ear before moving to either side and nipping at her lobe.

Her hands are on his lower back, sliding up and down and trying to memorize the way his muscles twist and bulge and ripple with each movement of his tongue. One hand moves to grab at the back of his head, loving the way his hair wraps around her fingers and arches into him when his tongue begins to play close attention to her breast. His hands are kneading her hips, her ass, her back, pulling her closer to him and she again tries to rub against him but he pushes her hips back down against the mattress and she huffs.

“Fuck, you are so impatient,” He teases her, the vibrations of his words hardening her nipple to the point of pain.

Her head fall back against the pillow and she pushes her breast further into his mouth when he bites down.

“Shit,” she breathes, a leg wrapping around his hip, his hand moving to hold her thigh tight against him.

She wants him to touch her, she wants him inside her, and she didn’t want teasing. Teasing could come later, right now she wanted him and her to be intertwined in every sense of the word.

“Bellamy,” she whines when a hand is flat against the tops of her breasts, his face closer to her stomach and he licks and runs his tongue down her midline.

He pulls away and she realizes she doesn’t like _that at all_ and feels hollow without him touching her, and he looks at her with such a serious and painful face that she is frozen.

“Ten years Clarke,” He tells her like she didn’t know, “I’m taking my time.”

Ten years, he said. Is that when it happened for him? When they were just becoming teenagers and seeing all of the perks of the opposite sex? Sure, she liked him before, but she wasn’t sexually attracted to him until she saw him play ball after school one day and she felt the unfamiliar sensation in her lower belly when his forearms tensed as he gripped a bat. Unfortunately for all other boys, including her ex-boyfriend, Bellamy Blake playing baseball was her sexual awakening.

She groans and whimpers embarrassingly when he moves lower and his torso rubs against the top of where she wanted him and she felt just a fraction of friction against her.

A leg is on his shoulder and then his finger—just one—rubs slowly up and down gathering up the wetness and she actually cries his name. It would take absolutely nothing to come under his hands. It took only one touch to be halfway there.

He flattens his tongue against her, and her hands leave the place they were clenching the sheets, and cover her face, trying to calm herself, trying to think of anything she could to not give him the satisfaction of orgasming just from one lick.

Her legs curls around his shoulder, her heel digging into his back as his tongue moves from her clit to inside of her. She couldn’t even think about the fact no one had ever done this that way and how beautifully delicious it felt, because she wanted the first time she came with him was when he was pushing into her. She wanted it to be with him inside of her and face to face with her.

But Bellamy didn’t seem to care, because he continued on. But she didn’t want to lose it, lose her orgasm on just his tongue. She had been hardwired from Finn that she only got one during a sexual act and after she was done, he focused on solely himself. He thought it made him seem generous, but it just left her frustrated.

“Bellamy, wait--” He freezes, his whole body turns the stone and she realizes what that must sound like. That she didn’t want to do this, but that was the _farthest_ thing this could be.

“I’m not stopping,” His body releases the tension at her words, and she tries to focus, and not on the way his breath feels against her, “I just don’t want to use up my one orgasm like this. I want you--”

He pulls up, his eyes level with hers and she thinks he is going to push inside her, give her what she wants, but he doesn’t—he smirks at her so much like the cocky Bellamy when they were in high school.

His ego would explode if he knew how much that smirk turned her on and had done so every time, he used it on her. Just the sight would make her damp.

“Oh, baby,” He sighs, but it is mocking, and she narrows her eyes at him, “We aren’t stopping at one.”

He doesn’t let her respond, just slides back down her body and he assaults her with his tongue so expertly that he isn’t really leaving room for an argument.

“Let go, Clark,” He whispers against her and she does, violently, her leg curled back around him, keeping his head and more importantly his mouth against her as she shook.

She wasn’t fully back down when he positions himself above her, the tip of his erection sliding between her (she can’t help but want to ask when he had time to put a condom on because she could feel it) and his forehead against her own—the cockiness gone and all that remains is pure want, anticipation and—he is nervous. How could he be nervous? She was just Clarke.

He reaches behind his head to grab at her hand, to release his hair and to instead wrap her fingers around his own, his other hand leaving marks against her thigh, and then after years of buildup, he is inside her and she thinks if she dies right now, she wouldn’t even be upset.

She moans out his name, and he drops to place kisses against her lips, her neck, her nose, and then back to her lips. They bruise her with need, and she nips on the plush skin unable to choose between soft and sweet or hard and rough. He slams into her with such force that his bed shakes under them and her mouth can’t even form the sounds she feels, all that comes out is air, huffs of shock at the pleasure running up and down her body—from his dick inside of her, to his chest rubbing against her, to his mouth on hers. Her mouth is open, her moans of practically just air pushing inside his own, and he is muttering curses over and over interchanged with her name. Her name has never sounded like such seduction in her life.

She was shaking, a quivering mess and felt such relief at no longer having to hold back her want for him. She untangles her hand from his to hold his face as he kisses her, as she kisses him back just as fiercely, and then she is back at his shoulders, those beautiful tanned freckled shoulders, clawing at them, possibly breaking skin, marking him for everyone to see. He burrows his head into her neck, biting the skin of her shoulder in retaliation. No one would every question what happened here on this night if it was up to them—they wanted to scar, to mark, to claim and she would let him take her in any way he wanted.

He flips them over, and she is straddling him as he pulls himself gracefully into a sitting position. She swivels her hips, up, down, back and forth, circling him as she moves him in and out of her. She holds his chin, cupped between her hands, bringing his lips back to hers and smiling as his teeth bump into her own.

She sighs.

He moans.

She breathes in.

He breathes out.

She never wants it to end as he keeps a tight arm around her waist, the other gripping the nape of her neck, her breasts squeezed between the two of them. She almost can’t stop murmuring sweet nothings, to sigh an I love you, but she keeps it, biting his bottom lip and sucking hard until the irrational thought leaves her mind.

His hand on her hair tightens and his arm wrapped around her moves between them, rubbing at her until she is climbing right back up to climax and she begs him not to stop, and so quickly he knows what she wants, what she needs in a way Finn never could. Bellamy’s fingers are soft on her, never moving his nail and scraping against her, keeping it delicate as his thrusts are rough.

He turns them again, the sheet she doesn’t remember being on her wrapping tighter around them, wound around her leg like she is a mummy, and he pushes so deep into her she can’t help but cry out his name, beg for more, beg for it to be harder, faster, and his fingers stay light and teasing while his thrusts became frantic and punishing.

“Oh, oh, oh,” She moans over and over until she is scraping his back so hard, and she holds his lips to her, biting and licking as she shudders around him.

He doesn’t stop his movements but pulls his hand away to grab hers once again and one, two, three, she counts as he stares down at her and she feels him pulsating inside of her.

She can feel his heart beating in syncope with her own, beat for beat, and their breathing is haggard and even after they are both sated, he continues to kiss her, to moan her name while he softens inside of her.

In the aftermath, when he has thrown the condom away and she is spent half on top of him, they fall asleep as he cards his fingers through her hair, and she grazes her fingers against his arm.

She wakes to darkness and the feeling of his body wrapped around her and then the worry settles, the fear as he begins to stir behind her. What if subconsciously he doesn’t realize it is her in this bed with him? She feels a stone in her stomach at the thought of him thinking he was holding Echo. What if he is was just bored? And the ten years wasn’t because he cared about her but curiosity of just what it meant to have Clarke Griffin in his bed.

Clarke has worked herself into a storm, and she can’t fall back asleep, her mind in overdrive as she wonders if she should leave, if she should sneak out before he shatters her heart into a million pieces by thinking she is his Echo—

He mumbles and it is soft and low and she still—her thoughts blank and she is begging him to not break her. His grip tightens and she hears it.

“Clarke,” He sighs, and she breathes out and wants to thank whoever is listening.

She turns in his arms and somehow it causes her heart to pound even more when she realizes he is still asleep. She smiles for only herself and leans forward and kisses his cheek and snuggles herself deeper into him. This could all implode on her in days, and this could just be cabin fever, but for right now—for this moment—she had him and he had her.

She knew with rather certainty that after this or maybe even before, Bellamy had her heart to take, to shatter, to care for—it was only ever his to begin with.

* * *

When Bellamy wakes, he is alone. There is a moment, though small, that he thinks she snuck away in the middle of night in embarrassment and regret. But her side was still warm, and her clothes were scattered throughout his room and he knows she just got up as usual.

When yesterday started, never in his mind did he think it would end with Clarke in his bed in all the ways he wanted her to be. He wasn’t complaining, far from it, but there was a piece of him that still felt like he just whipped up a great fantasy and if it wasn’t for her smell on the pillow—that pear scent in full force since Lincoln dropped it off, he’d think it was all just a dream.

He slips on his gym shorts and steps out of his room, instantly smelling the fresh brew of coffee. He stretches at he goes down the stairs quickly, “annoyingly graceful” as Clarke always put it. He rounds the banister, through the hallway to find her in the kitchen, in only his t-shirt and it barely hitting her thighs. Her hair is in a messy bun showcasing the expanse of that fucking gorgeous neck of hers. Her back is to him, the shirt hanging off a shoulder and giving him a perfect view of the bruise and bite mark he gifted her the night before.

She is bobbing her head, reading something that sits on the counter and he knows she is probably mumbling to a song in her head, Clarke always having music going on in her head. He leans against the archway, taking just a few moments to watch her in her environment, and he can’t help but the image of his whole life being just like this and with only her.

He was so fucked.

She lifts a leg, bending to use the top of her foot to rub at the back of her leg, and then letting it stay crossed once she puts it back on the ground. He steps into the kitchen, coming to stand behind her and lean down to kiss her bruise. She tilts her head, her glasses still perched on her nose, to make it easier and leans back so her head is leaning against his chest.

“Good morning,” She sighs, and it is so easy, so intimate that he wants to take a picture to remember this moment.

“I didn’t mean to bruise you,” Bellamy mumbles against her skin and feels her shrug against his lips. She turns, her back now against the counter and doesn’t look at all concerned but he still feels guilty about it.

“I wasn’t complaining, and I bet,” She pauses, pushing at his shoulder to turn around he complies, and she stifles a giggle, “Yeah, I did worse.”

He rolls his shoulders, feeling some burning at the stretch of skin, but like her, he didn’t care. He crowds her, trapping her against the counter and kisses her fully. She moans into his mouth and then she giggles.

Bellamy was starting to think if he recorded Clarke Griffin laughing then he might just have the cure for depression because her laugh always managed a smile from him. He pulls away, kisses her nose for good measure and steps away from her.

“I made coffee,” She tells him, sipping at her own cup.

“I’m pretty sure the smell of coffee pulled me out of sleep.” He jokes reaching for the hot brew.

They fall into an easy banter throughout the morning. They discussed his work, how she planned to spend her hours and ate breakfast in a comfortable bubble he never wanted to leave. After breakfast, after she placed her plate in the dishwasher and he realized she had absolutely nothing on under his shirt, he really couldn’t help himself from spinning her around her and placing her flat on the counter and preceding to eat her out like his life depended on it.

She was addictive and he was pretty sure in twenty-four hours she had ruined even the option of fucking someone that wasn’t her ever again—not like he really wanted to. 

It took another twenty minutes after that to even make it to his office because after she came down from her high, she shoved him on to a chair and took his dick in her mouth and he came embarrassingly fast. It seemed they broke a dam, took a jack hammer to it and now they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. He barely could get through his meetings with his students because all he wanted was to throw Clarke over his shoulder and lock her in his room for the rest of quarantine.

Finally, _finally_ , the last student clicked off and he slammed his computer shut, trying not to sprint up the stairs to find her. Her voice filtered through once he opened the door and could tell she was on the phone with someone. At first, he worried it was Raven. She was due four days ago but as of yesterday, Murphy said she still wasn’t in labor.

“Yes, oxytocin can be used to stimulate contractions but if they get to be too many or the baby is showing signs like they are struggling, then you need to slow down the infusion.” He walks into the living room to see her pacing, nodding to whoever was on the other line. He plops down on the couch while she talks. “Mhmm. You’re going to do fine on your test. Just know contraindications for the different meds.”

He couldn’t tell who she was talking to, but it sounded like a student based on the word test. He didn’t know she helped nursing students, “Correct, no hemabate with asthma.”

She says a few more things that Bellamy doesn’t understand and then hangs up and tosses her phone onto the couch and sitting beside him. He doesn’t ask, but she explains anyway.

“I help out with the nursing students and with everything going on,” She waves her hands around, “They can’t come to the hospital, so I gave them my number if they need help. Apparently, test two is tomorrow.”

He nods and pats her thigh, “I’m sure you’re a great teacher.”

She shrugs, “Well, we can’t all be the amazing Mr. Blake, but I love OB and always want the students to love it too.”

He will never admit to her that his dick literally twitched at her calling him Mr. Blake. Definitely a kink he didn’t realize he had. He felt like a teenage boy around her now that they had slept together.

She turns on the couch, curling her now yoga pant covered legs underneath her. He raises his legs to the coffee table and crosses them at his ankles, “What made you want to go into OB, anyway?”

It makes sense to him in a way he doesn’t really understand, but when Clarke first mentioned OB while still in school, it just clicked in his mind and he could never see her doing anything else but he never knew what made her choose it. He doesn’t expect the way she stills, her lip to be sucked between her teeth and gnawed, and for her to look nervous.

“Um,” She takes a deep breath and then she says, “Well, I can’t have kids.”

He feels like all of the air in his lungs gets stuck in his throat and he is being suffocated from the anguish. Because Clarke was meant to be a mom. She loves children, she is nurturing to everyone she comes in contact with, including Murphy. She deserved to carry her own child, to see her eyes reflected in their own, to have her smile, and her hair color. It was absolute fucking bullshit that she couldn’t have children.

He is boiling and his fucking upset, but on the outside, he just nods for her to continue.

“I found out in nursing school and I guess I just really wanted to help women have babies and to be there through the hard times and the good. And I wanted to bring light to infertility and to help future generations in a way that they couldn’t help me.” She shrugs again like it’s okay. Like she is trying to tell him _I’m okay._

But he wasn’t. Because it wasn’t _fair._ Clarke is supposed to have children, to be pregnant, to have her moment like Raven and all the mom’s she took care of. He is trying to be aloof, to act like it doesn’t really matter that she is infertile, and it shouldn’t bother him _this_ much. Okay, yes, they slept together, and Bellamy was trying to rationalize that only a few days ago, he was dating someone else so he really shouldn’t be this invested with Clarke’s lack of ability to reproduce.

And it really should be a neon sign, bright and flashing above him that he felt the lump in his throat and the instinctive reaction was to picture his own child looking like Clarke and realizing that wasn’t a possibility and the next thought to comfort her by telling her there were always other options.

When Echo broke up with him, she asked if he loved Clarke, if he was in love with Clarke and he said no. He told himself there was no way even though there was stick that prodded at him in frustration every time he denied it. And now, with the very real possibility she might love him back, it was a startlingly clear realization when he realized he had always loved Clarke, a white noise constant in his heart that no one ever had the chance of taking.

_Holy fuck._

Echo also asked him if now that he had fucked her, could he finally take her off the pedestal he never realized he fully put her on. He had his answer for Echo and honestly, that pedestal was even higher now.

He is staring at her and he can’t wrap his head around the fact he was so fucking stupid. It really should be a sign where you never were fully invested in any relationship and when a girl tells you she can’t have kids and your visceral reaction is to bring up fucking adoption.

“I didn’t,” He clear his throat, “I didn’t know you couldn’t…”

She gives a sad smile and places a comforting hand on his arm, “It’s okay. I’m okay. Just means that I get to adopt a baby that really _really_ needs a mom.”

She had so much love to give, reserved for a child of her own and he wanted that for her—so fucking much.

He can only nod because he is about to tell her everything. Tell her he was an idiot and had been an idiot for twenty years, but he doesn’t. Not yet, he tells himself. Just not _yet._


	8. i've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm going to be honest. The first part of this chapter is what took so long because it was really hard to write. I found out only a week after posting the last chapter that I myself couldn't have children and so it was just something I couldn't bring myself to think about let alone write. 
> 
> But I did it and finished it and it was honestly cathartic to get through those emotions. I think I needed to bring that plot point a little more to the forefront in this chapter so I could handle it myself lol .
> 
> Only one chapter left after this!

Clarke couldn’t tell you why she told him, why she felt it aching in her heart, scratching at her throat to tell him, to yell it. When someone asked why she decided to become an OB nurse, she said because she loved babies or something simple—easy. She didn’t tell them it is because she was told she couldn’t have her own children and that this was the only connection to pregnancy she got.

When she found out, at only twenty years old, she wasn’t thinking about children—that was in the future when she had a husband. Though she was dating Finn, it wasn’t something she actively wanted and not with Finn. She learned after their first break up, it was never going to be forever, it was just for right now, right then. She told him of course, and he was awkward and apologetic, but it didn’t affect him and maybe that’s why it hurt so much when all he could say was “that sucks.” Because it didn’t ruin him, not like it did Clarke—because Finn would go on and Finn could meet a girl and would never think again about not having a child.

For Clarke, with every relationship, this would be a conversation. She would have to have those wounds open up once again. The pain that clawed at her heart, the agony each month she received her period—mocking her at what she was never going to have. Maybe she was a masochist, that she enjoyed the pain of watching women overjoyed as their belly swelled, as they held their baby for the first time and tried to see which features came from which parent.

She never told her friends, only her mom and Finn. She didn’t want the sympathy and the pity she would gain from Octavia and Raven. They would have been afraid to bring up babies, and what if they joked about not wanting kids or gushed over how their future child that looked like their significant others.

So she found her mom, who usually was stilted and awkward and broke in front of her. Her mom surprised them both, holding her as she cried, whispering she would be okay, pointing out how much she loved Lincoln, how much Kane loved them both. She comforted and consoled, wiping her tears as she recited what she used to say to Lincoln, _You grew in my heart, not in my belly._

But she kept her smile, she held back the choked the sob, the red eyes and gave a bright face when Raven squealed she was pregnant to her almost nine months ago. She yelped her congratulations, knowing she couldn’t break down in a restaurant and waited until she said her goodbye and was in the quiet of her car that she finally let it out. She sobbed for the moment she would never get to have.

There were days where she wanted to break apart, days when Raven told her about baby Murphy kicking that she wanted to take a baseball bat to everything in her apartment and watched the wreckage finally come to fruition like the wreckage in her body.

She doesn’t know why she feels like a weight is pushing down at her as she stared at Bellamy, why she felt it necessary, why it felt inevitable to say those words to him. Maybe because she didn’t know what was happening between them, if it would even continue when quarantine ended, but maybe she just wanted to remind him what he was giving up with her.

How do you tell the guy you love you can’t give him a child?

She thought about that more than she liked to admit. Because she felt broken and damaged and incomplete by learning she couldn’t have children and it was something she just assumed would happen. And then it was stolen away from her like it was nothing. She didn’t get the miracle baby like in the TV shows where the infertility is used as a plot device and ends with a miraculous conception.

She felt empty and maybe she wanted him to know.

To see his face morph into detached sympathy like Finn. Where he knows it doesn’t affect him even if it really _sucks_ for her. Maybe she’d get some semblance of an answer of what she was to Bellamy and his face would tell her. His response to this topic would give her a good indication of just what he expected out of this arrangement. She had prepped herself for his shrug, for his well that _sucks_ just like Finn. But that isn’t what happened.

No, what happened was a man who looked sucker punched, a man who looked like he was just told _he_ couldn’t have children. He didn’t look at her with placating frowns, but heart wrenching sadness in his eyes, looking up and down her body like he could fix it, he could fix her. He looked at her stomach with betrayal—for her. How dare her body fail her? He looked at her body like he was going to find the piece that took away her chance of children and fix it. For her. She felt innate need to comfort, to console his worries because most days she was fine.

He crumbled under the thought, his eyes were wide and full of sorrow like he just lost a child, a future and it terrified her. He looked like she did—like her world had been changed.

Bellamy’s reaction terrified her because it gave her hope that she wasn’t just being used because Echo broke things off, it made her hope she was more than that. That she could be everything. But that couldn’t be the look he was giving, it couldn’t.

So, she coughed an awkward noise hoping to break up the thickness of this conversation and then jumped up, putting back on that perfect smile that never showed her breaking and told him she was taking a shower and he was welcome to join.

He nods, but he is still dazed like she just punched him in the stomach, and she sighs. She made it awkward and now he couldn’t even talk to her, look at her.

She turns, but it seems he finally remembered because she hears movement, and then his arm encircling her wrist and turning her around.

"Wait,” She looks up at him, her smile still set. He is frowning, staring down at her, searching her eyes again, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

"Act like you are okay all the time,” Her smile dims, wipes off her face, “I know you aren’t okay. So, don’t feel like you have to put every bad feeling you have back in a box to make everyone else around you comfortable.”

She gulps, and her eyes burn at the emotion rolling off of him, “I’m really okay.”

“But if you aren’t, that’s okay. You don’t have to cry and shit, but don’t cover it all up with the fake nurse smile.”

How does he know that? How does he know her smiles and why is he telling her to not do it? Why does he _care?_

Her nose twitches and her teeth gnaw a little bit harder on her lip, “Some days really suck.”

He nods.

“But today, right now, isn’t one of them. I promise.” She leans up and places a chaste kiss on her lips, “Now are you taking a shower with me?”

He rolls his eyes with a nod and this time her smile is small without teeth and real. It seems to suffice because he smiles back at her, “There she is.”

Her body recharges at his words, simmering and she could feel her blood pumping extra to the velvet words falling off his tongue. It shouldn’t feel like this, he shouldn’t make her feel like this.

But here he was, not giving a damn what he was _supposed_ to do.

He follows her up the stairs, pulling her clothes off piece by piece as though he was leaving a path to not get lost. By the time they make it into the bathroom, she is down to just a pair of panties and yet he is still completely clothed.

She pouts at him after sitting her phone on the counter beside his own while he takes to turning on the water, “Why is it I’m always naked and you aren’t?”

He smirks, pushing her against the counter and leaning down to be just against her lips, “Because when we walk, there is no way you can get me naked.”

She smacks his chest with one hand, the other bracing her on the counter, “Not true.”

“To be a princess, you have the grace of a newborn deer,” He chuckles and leans down and kisses her pout, “It’s endearing.”

“Then how do I get naked so easily, hmm?”

“Because I do it for you, princess. Keep up,” He captures her lips and she sighs against him, all frustration leaving her at feeling him against her.

She fingers his shirt, pulling it over him and breaking their kiss, he returning before the shirt even leaves her hands. His rough hands slide into her underwear, pushing it down her legs and pushing his own with equal efficiency.

She tries to not let her worries eat her, to find his ulterior motive for being with her and stops trying to dissect every face and glance of the eyes he makes. She throws herself into the feeling of her body instead of the feeling of her mind.

The steam is building around them and he pulls the curtain back. He effortlessly picks her up into her arms, setting her into the hot water before climbing in himself. He is crowding her, pushing her against the slick wall and she is moaning into his mouth.

And then just when his hand starts sliding down her stomach, her phone rings. She pauses and he mumbles against her mouth, “Ignore it.”

She wants to, really, but she knows it could be Raven and she doesn’t want to miss that phone call.

“It could be Raven,” She gasps when his fingers tease between her legs.

“Even more reason to ignore it,” His fingers are insistent, his mouth bruising, but then he stills—his mind catching up with his lust and he sighs, “Baby Murphy.”

She nods, the phone still making its presence known being just as persistent as the caller and she dips underneath him, out the curtain, and sure enough Raven’s face stares up at her.

“Hello?”

“I’m in labor,” Raven tells her in a form of a greeting and the excitement wells in the Clarke, “Is that rain?”

Clarke giggles, “I’m in the shower. How are you feeling?”

Raven sighs, “Like I am about to push John fucking Murphy’s spawn out of me. What was I thinking?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, staring up at Bellamy who is taken to actually taking a shower and lathering shampoo in his shaggy hair. She wants nothing more than to step underneath the water with him. She follows a line of soap making its way down from his neck, down his chest and mixing with the water and rushing away as though it was never there. He is paying no attention, his eyes closed as he tilts his head back and she thinks he is the pinnacle of a hair commercial. She tries to focus on Raven, tries not to ogle the man in front of her but boy oh boy is it a feat.

“Baby is okay?” She finally asks, her voice causing Bellamy to finally look and she almost quivers at the way his eyes rove over her body.

“Mhmm, Contractions are six minutes apart and I was told they are only moderate intensity but they feel pretty severe to me,” Raven grumbles and Clarke could feel her glare, “I asked the nurse how the baby is handling and she said to tell you category one.”

“Perfect,” Clarke sighed and hoped it came out as relief and not because Bellamy had stepped back into her space and leaned down to kiss up her neck.

She closes her eyes, letting Raven tell her all about the past twenty minutes leading up to her being in the hospital. Clarkes mumbles ohs and are you okays and tries not to moan when Bellamy sucks on a particularly sensitive spot on the dip of her clavicle.

“Well, we just wanted to call the godparents. John just stepped out to call Bellamy,” Raven explains.

“Wait! No!” She yells with urgency causing Bellamy to jump back from her right as he goes to kiss against her breasts.

“Huh?” Raven questions while Bellamy starts cataloging her like he has done something wrong.

“I just mean, I can tell him when I can get out.”

Bellamy’s own eyes widen as he puts the pieces together. Neither of them ready to handle the Murphys knowing they were in the shower—together.

“John wants to tell him and besides how am I--” Clarke’s eyes close in defeat when Bellamy’s phone begins to ring and Raven stops talking. “Clarke?”

“Hmm?” She grimaces.

“Why can I hear Bellamy’s phone?” Raven asks slowly, hope tinged in her words.

Bellamy is already reaching passed her, his hand through the open curtain and answering his own phone call,

“Well,” Clarke draws out the word.

“Murphy,” Bellamy sighs.

And then Raven screams, actually screams in pure unbridled joy before telling Bellamy to tell John to go back into the room.

Clarke doesn’t know Murphy’s response, but soon all four of them are on phone calls together and she can hear Murphy on her own phone, “Why did--”

“Clarke and Bellamy are in the shower _together,_ ”

“Should we just hang up?” Bellamy asks Clarke and she shrugs but then Raven scolds them for even thinking about it.

“Did you hear that baby?” Murphy teases, “Operation godparents was a success!”

“This is the best thing to happen to me ever!” Raven giggles.

“Raven, you are about to have your baby,” Bellamy deadpans.

“I said what I said, Blake.”

Clarke sighs, dropping her forehead against Bellamy’s chest as she feels the rumbles of his low chuckles.

“We are hanging up now,” Bellamy tells them, “Keep us updated, please.”

He ends his call with Murphy, and takes Clarke’s phone to end it as well before coming back to her, “They will never let this go, will they?”

She shakes her head, “Never.”

He shrugs against her, uninterested in the fall out of their best friends knowing, instead turning his attention solely to her body. She sighs against him as his tongue licks at her neck.

It takes thirty minutes to actually get to the showering part, each too involved in each other, neither noticing when the water runs cold, neither caring when shampoo bottle topples over from the force of Clarke’s hand. The only thing that mattered was the movement of each other and nothing else.

The final days of quarantine pass by similar. They don’t discuss the outside, they don’t talk about what they exactly wanted from one another the second they were able to get out of this house.

It felt much more important to Clarke to gather every bit of him as she could, fully certain it would all fall apart. So, when night falls, she lets him pull her into his bed, she curls around him, tangles her fingers with his wanting any resemblance of a relationship with him. She wakes him with kisses, she stands close as he pours his coffee. She releases all control and all humility and instead basks in the moments, in the minutes that slipped through her hands too quickly and soaks him in hoping maybe she gets to keep him.

But that was stupid to hope for because he was just as quiet on their future as she was. He never alludes to liking her outside of sex, outside of this house. It eats away at her and unknowingly her best friend just makes it worse

“I can’t believe you two actually stayed all fourteen days,” Octavia’s tone was a mixture of impressed and teasing—Octavia never one to take this pandemic completely seriously.

“Better safe than sorry,” Clarke places the phone between her ear and shoulder as she opens her water bottle.

Bellamy was working out, something he had done throughout quarantine and something which Clarke refused to be part of. She had her two attempts of yoga and that was enough physical exercise for her.

“I’m glad to see you to two aren’t tired of each other yet,” Octavia giggles, “But honestly, I am so happy this is over.”

“Same, I miss being able to just leave my house,” Clarke jokes, “And I want to meet Jack.”

Raven had a rather breezy delivery which Clarke was grateful for. She is pretty sure Raven would never have forgiven for her missing the birth of Jack Murphy if the delivery would have been difficult.

“He’s so cute from six feet away,” Octavia laughs.

Octavia doesn’t bring up Bellamy in relation to Clarke, and it was very quick into this conversation that Clarke realized Raven and Murphy didn’t tell her. Clarke wasn’t sure why she was thankful for that, why she didn’t want her best friend to know. Maybe it was from years of Octavia’s frustrations of her friends always liking Bellamy. Clarke had heard enough stories of girls coming over to hang out with O just for her to find them sneaking off for a chance to talk to Bellamy.

And now here was Clarke—the _best_ friend—sleeping with him.

Octavia had never, _never_ said anything about Clarke and Bellamy—like oddly so. She wouldn’t joke of them dating, she wouldn’t tease her when she caught her staring too long. It was like the idea was too foreign, too disgusting and taboo for it to ever happen. Yet here they were, Clarke having sex with Bellamy in nearly every room and surface of his house and Clarke still not acting like anything was up with Octavia.

“He’s been okay?”

Clarke frowns, “Yeah, why wouldn’t he be?”

She can hear Octavia sigh, “You never know when he and Echo break up. Just wanted to make sure he wasn’t depressing you with his moping.”

Clarke struggles a laugh, instead feeling her insecurities rising, her lies eating her alive as she still worried she was just something to pass the time, terrified the second Echo was over their break up, he would run right back to her like he always did.

God, she was so stupid.

“Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t shown up there demanding him to see her,” Octavia teased. She had never liked Echo and she also had absolutely no issue letting Echo know it.

“He’s been fine,” Clarke states refusing to take part in tearing Echo down. She had never wanted to talk ill of her just because she had something Clarke always wanted.

“I will never understand them. It’s just strings of one-night stands thrown together. I mean, honestly, their break ups are just ways to make each other jealous.”

She wants to scream; she wants to throw her phone and also beg Octavia to just stop talking. But she doesn’t, instead she acts the way she always does when Octavia gossips about Bellamy—disinterested. Like she isn’t completely in love with him and breaking at never being the one he goes after.

“He’s just been usual aloof Bellamy.”

“And he will be out of your hair in less than twelve hours and back in Echo’s waiting arms,” Octavia adds.

It causes Clarke to almost tear up because the thought alone broke her. She didn’t want that; she didn’t want him to leave. But she also didn’t want to be second best to Echo. She can’t be.

She tries not to think about it. After ending her conversation with Octavia, she preoccupies herself with packing the small amount of things she had, ready for the last of the day to finish. She felt like she was suffocating with each passing moment, waiting for him to pull the cord, to be done, to tell her it was just a rebound.

Maybe this was karma for what she did to Finn. Maybe she deserved _this,_ to have Bellamy give her what she wanted when in reality she was just a way to make the days go by faster. She was going to lose him; she knew it with certainty now because it just made sense. He had a woman who he had years of history with, he was in love with her and she could give him babies with his dark eyes and tan skin and could be everything he wanted.

Clarke couldn’t.

He notices, of course he does, because for the past few days she had been light as a feather and affectionate and now she was empty, a shell, fragile and just waiting for just one push to shatter.

So, Clarke does what she does best, she pushes him away before he can finish the job.

“We shouldn’t have done this,” she murmurs from her spot on the bar stool.

He freezes from across the counter and he looks up with fearful eyes, “What?”

“You and Echo are having problems and I just confused things,” She pushes through the pain, through her heart screaming at her for the words she says.

“No,” He snaps, refusing to have this conversation.

He doesn’t see it, he is in the middle of it and doesn’t realize how this is what he does and it always ends back as Bellamy and Echo.

“Don’t do this to protect me,” She shakes her head at him, “It has always been Bellamy and Echo.”

He scoffs and her lip quivers, “Stop trying to sabotage everything around you, Clarke.”

Her anger picks away at the sadness and she glares heavily, “I’m _not_ sabotaging. I am being _realistic._ This is what you do. Echo wants a break, you do whatever you want for a few days and then she gets over herself and you go right back to her. I’m just in the way.”

Her anger doesn’t hold on, her voice cracking at the end of the words but it seems to tamp down his anger as well because he is rounding the corner to her, “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? Because from where I stand, I am just confusing the script that is always the same. I am so much more than second best or a toy in your stupid game.” He reaches for her, but she pulls away, she pushes herself to stay out of his grasp.

“You honestly think that?” He seems hurt, pained and broken but she doesn’t let herself linger.

“It was always gonna end this way. I am just trying to get there quicker.” She shrugs, the movement of lifting her shoulders nonchalantly physically aches.

His head is frantically moving back and forth, and she pushes her tongue against the side of her teeth to stop from crying.

“Don’t throw away four years for someone like me,” She whispers.

“Someone like you?” He repeats and she nods.

“She can give you everything, a future and all I can give is me,” He shoves her hands at her body, her barren, empty body.

“Stop,” He begs, going for her hands again but she hops off the stool and takes another step back. He huffs, shocked by her actions and then he looks defeated.

“I am not a rebound, Bellamy,” She reiterates the thought, not wanting to dive deep into her slip of insecurities, into the deep dark world of beating herself up for stealing that away from him.

“I never said you were.”

She starts towards the front door, knowing the words will be easier if she isn’t looking at him. Instead, she focused on just getting out the front door and saying the words over her shoulder.

“You’re too close, you can’t see it, but I _am._ I can’t see past that and so I think it is best if we just--”

He finally gets her, she was too distracted by trying to say the words because now she is in his arms, her arms limp to the sides as he crushes her body into him, holding onto her as though that will stop her from leaving.

“Don’t do this, you’re wrong,” His words are panicked, and she honestly thinks he believes it, but for some reason she can’t believe it herself.

She hears a knock on a door, and it sucks the air out of her. This was the end of them, it was, and she knew it. She knew Echo would show up and she doesn’t need the door to open for her to confirm it. She was sure Echo has been counting the days until fourteen were up to make up with Bellamy.

It just reinforced every fear she already had. He held her tighter, telling her to ignore the door, to ignore the outside world that would surely rip them apart.

“Let me go, Bellamy.” She whispers, “Please.”

And he does, he pulls away and lets her grab her bags. She doesn’t cry, she doesn’t let the tears fall when she opens the door and there stands Echo in all of her glory.

“Clarke,” Her name sounds like a beg from behind her as she stares at an unimpressed Echo.

She looks over her shoulder, shaking her head at him, hoping he sees it now. Echo magically being here made it all come together. Echo would take care of him, she would pick up what he thinks Clarke was breaking and, in a few days, they would be back to where they always were.

“Bye,” she breathes, the word hurting her throat as it ripped out.

She doesn’t turn back and she definitely doesn’t let herself see him let Echo in. She climbs into her car and she pulls away just as the tears began to pour.


	9. this ain’t the fair-weather love like I’m used to, no

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, i can't tell you the last time I finished a story. I feel so accomplished. Thank you so much for reading! It has been a joy writing this!

She doesn’t think about him—or well she tries not to. She tries not to think about the way he dragged his lips down her skin, she tries not to think about the way she would catch his eyes across the table as they ate breakfast. She tries to not think about the two weeks with him where it ended with a broken heart—her broken heart and him going back to the girl he was supposed to be with.

She isn’t great at not thinking about him, but she does her best. She focuses on work, taking care of women and babies and watching as the world finds a semblance of normal. It is never going to be like before where you didn’t think about someone not washing their hands constantly or what types of germs were on a doorknob. Everyone had found a new normal just like Clarke found a new normal for her heart.

It would never be like it was before and she barely could school her features every time Octavia said his name even when it was just in passing. She struggled to force the words in her mind when she wants to ask how he is, if he and Echo are happy. She focuses on Aurora instead, checking with Octavia if her mom was making a full recovery. She was with no lingering effects.

She doesn’t go back to the Blake house and if Octavia finds it odd, she doesn’t bring it up. Clarke meets Jack Murphy who shits all over her the first time she holds him which brings such a gleeful smile from his cockroach of a father, she can’t even find herself to be mad. John and Raven Murphy are the last people she ever thought would be parents, but they fell into the role so beautifully that Clarke caught herself in awe as she watched the two fuss over their son.

It only caused slight twinges of pain in her heart, her stomach, her head as she thought of her last conversations with Bellamy. She always did so good not thinking about her lack of babies and even with Raven being pregnant, she did so well never thinking about it.

But then she slept with Bellamy, even worse, she stupidly thought about a future with Bellamy and it brought all of those stupid thoughts back.

So she didn’t think about him. She didn’t think about what he was like with Jack, what he was doing with Echo. She doesn’t indulge in conversation with Raven when she tells her Bellamy told Murphy he was moving. She muttered an oh even though she wanted to ask Raven how far would he be. Raven told her anyway and she learned Bellamy was just moving across town into his own place, still in Arkadia and _not_ across country like he did before. Not that she cared.

Raven doesn’t bring it up when Clarke and Bellamy cease talking to each other. Murphy doesn’t make teasing comments about operation godparents which was apparently a real thing. Raven doesn’t push her to talk about it and soon the Murphys learn to not even say Bellamy’s name.

She only wished her brother and his sister had the same inclination.

So two months pass rather quickly and she gets to the point where she only cries once or twice a week about him and she only goes over every moment they have when she is really stressed and she is doing her _absolute_ best.

“Are you going to the wedding this weekend?” Lincoln asks as he sits in his comfy brown leather club chair, legs perched on the matching ottoman.

She sits on the mismatched green velvet sofa snacking on her pretzels, “Wasn’t planning on it.”

He doesn’t pause the movie they are watching, neither were really watching it anyway, but he does turn in the chair to look at her more fully, “Why not?”

She shrugs, “I’m not actually friends with either groom. Only know them because of circumstance.”

“You have known Miller as long as you have known me,” He rebuttals and she eyes him with pursed lips.

“Why do you want me to go?”

“No reason,” He reaches out wanting the pretzels but she moves them to other side of her.

“Lincoln,” She raises a brow.

“You’ve been different since you got stuck in a house with Bellamy. I thought maybe--”

She shakes her head, “No, I don’t want to see him.”

He sighs and sits up in the chair, “Dude, what happened?”

She gnaws on her lip surely leaving an indentation and blinks once, twice, “Nothing. I just don’t want to see him.”

He growls at her and honestly, he is like an actual dog sometimes, “Nothing _happened._ ”

“Then there should be no problem seeing him at a wedding,” He shrugs turning back to the tv.

They both sit in silence, effectively pouting and she tries to ignore him. He is better at that than she is and soon she is cutting her eyes over at him growing angry that he isn’t paying her attention. He is doing it on purpose because he knows exactly how to win an argument with her. He is posing this wedding as a challenge and her need to win will over take her need to stay as far away from Bellamy Blake as possible.

But she shocks them both when instead she asks him:

“What would you do?”

He does pause the movie then and looks at her with a confused look so similar to hers, all bunched eyebrows and scrunched nose and pursed lips.

“If Octavia didn’t love you,” She adds.

His expression morphs into comprehension before she sees the empathy rolling off of him, “I guess I would do everything I could to never let her see how broken I was.”

“Why?” She whispers.

Lincoln didn’t talk about his feelings, she could count on one hand the amount of times he had said I love you and she was his _sister._ But she knew that he knew she needed him right now to be vulnerable just like she was.

“Because then she didn’t have the control of my heart, I did.”

She nods, playing with the corner of her blanket and handing him the pretzels with her other hand. He takes them graciously and then he adds, “Go to the wedding Clarke.”

“I didn’t even RSVP,” She lifts a shoulder while staring down at her crossed legs.

“I did for you months ago,” He confesses unpausing the movie and she huffs a unsurprised laugh and the night continues on.

The day of the wedding, she does everything she can to chicken out. She tells Lincoln she isn’t feeling well, then she cries, then she tries to wait too long to get ready. Nothing works and then she working with only forty-five minutes to get put together. She just has finished her make up and slipped on her dress when she hears Octavia’s voice.

She is looking at herself in the mirror, trying to decide if she looks okay when her best friend tells her, “You look ah-mazing.”

Clarke gives a small smile in the mirror. The dress is mauve, one of her favorite colors. It has a deep v neck line with thin straps crossing into an X on her back, cinched at her waist and flaring into a high low hem starting mid thigh and ending at the thick of her calf. The material is a polyester blend of satin, thick enough to keep it from blowing up if it were to be windy and with a gorgeous lace overlay that had Clarke instinctively rubbing her fingers across. Of course the selling point when she bought the dress for a wedding two years ago she ended up not going to was the fact it has _pockets._

“Look, it has pockets,” She shoves her hands into the perfect soft pockets as she spins to show Octavia who looks as gorgeous as ever in her black skin tight crop top and high waisted skirt.

“What are you doing with your hair?” Octavia tosses her phone on to Clarke’s bed and comes to step beside her.

Clarke shrugs, “I figured that pull through braid thing you did for sophomore formal.”

Octavia nods in recognition and pushes Clarke in front of her mirror and starts to put light curls in her hair and then twisting it off into the intricate braid that Clarke still isn’t totally sure she could have pulled off as well doing it herself.

It’s quiet and Clarke sees the way Octavia is opening and closing her mouth over and over again like she wants to talk. It’s almost awkward, something she and Octavia never are.

“You--”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Bellamy?” Octavia finally asks sounding almost hurt.

Clarke chest tightens unbearably at his name compounded on the sad look on Octavia’s face.

“What about him?” She wheezes out, not yet ready to spill the beans if sleeping with him _wasn’t_ what Octavia was talking about.

Octavia continues to work on her braid but glares at her in the mirror, “Oh I don’t know maybe you have liked him for god knows how long and _slept_ with him.”

She closes her eyes in shame feeling like she was being scolded as though she was a child. “I didn’t mean to cause any problems or upset you.”

Octavia frowns, “I’m not upset you and him did whatever you did. I am upset that you felt like you couldn’t tell me.”

“O, I grew up listening to you complain about all the people in high school talking about him. At what point would have been the right time to mention I was in love with him?”

Octavia freezes her nimble fingers and rests a hand on her Clarke’s shoulder, “You’re in love with him?”

Clarke stills herself and then shakes the stupid thought away, “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Clarke--”

“Did he tell you?” She questioned looking up at her best friend. She knows it is ludicrous to think they would sit there and talk about her poorly, laugh about stupid Clarke Griffin but the thought still ignites in her belly.

Octavia nods, “He’s been miserable these last two months. I thought it was Echo, but--” She swallows and she sucks her lips in-between her teeth for a bleak moment before sighing, “But I guess he got tired of me trying to tell him Echo wasn’t worth it because he lost it on me. About you.”

Octavia finishes her hair and leans against the vanity with her arms crossed, “Were _you_ ever going to tell me?”

Clarke honestly shakes her head, “I didn’t see the point. It didn’t seem worth upsetting you when he doesn’t feel the same.”

She scoffs, “Okay one, I have been dating your brother since I was fifteen. It would be a little hypocritical if I held that against you.”

Clarke agrees never even thinking about that fact. Man, she really can be stupid when it came to him.

“Two and this one is so much more important so pay attention,” She kneels completely steady on her red pumps and Clarke envies her for it. Octavia takes Clarke’s hands in her own, “You are an actual idiot if you think he doesn’t feel the same.”

“I don’t see him around,” Clarke says wetly looking around the room like maybe Bellamy would pop out.

“You told him not to be,” Octavia lips twist to one side into an unfortunate smile, “He’s just giving you what he thinks you want and before you bring up Echo, he has not spoken to her or about her because apparently he really doesn't care.”

The words hit Clarke full force. He and Echo didn't make up? They weren't together? But didn't he tell her that? Didn't he say they were going to be broken no matter what. Why couldn't she believe him? Why couldn't she believe she was enough?

“I didn’t want to be a rebound and I couldn’t even believe him when he told me I wasn’t.”

She taps her fingers against the back of Clarke’s hand, “Start trusting him, Clarke. I might not have known about your feelings, but I knew about his and right now, he is broken. And I am pretty sure he love you too.”

\----- ---- --- -

He hated Clarke Griffin.

Honestly, he did, because it was her fault he felt like this. Like he was constantly being hit by a fastball to the head. Like he was being sucker punched in the stomach and just when he catches his breath, she hits again and again and again. The day she left him he thought he was going to actually mentally break down. He should have followed her, he should have held her tight to him until she believed him when he said he wanted to be with her.

Because he did say that, right?

During that dreadful conversation where she sliced his chest open, plucked his heart, and crushed it between her hands, he told her he wanted to be with him. He had to. But as he thought back on it, the only words he ever stumbled over were nos and stops and don’t do this.

God, he should have told her the truth. He should have told her he was in love with her, he should have made Echo leave and made sure Clarke saw it. He should have chased after her.

Instead, he stood dumbfounded at Echo being at his front door when his whole world was falling apart and was frozen in place.

He did finally stop being a walking corpse long enough to tell Echo they were done for good this time and that they would _never_ be getting back together. She yelled at him, through a remote at him and told him he was an asshole who couldn’t even wait a week before jumping into bed with someone else. He specifically does _not_ tell her that in fact he did not wait forty-eight hours. She wasn’t wrong, he was an _asshole._

But karma got him in the end because he lost her. He let her walk away instead of just being honest and now, two months later, he can barely hear the name Clarke before he is being pulled into a downward spiral.

He thought through multiple ways to go to her apartment and confess everything but she made it abundantly clear she didn’t want him to. She avoided his mom’s house and him like the plague and when he asks Raven how she is, Raven tells him she is fine.

She is _fine_ and he is in pieces.

So he hates her.

He has to just until he wasn’t fucking in love with her anymore.

The day of Miller’s wedding, he does everything he can to be the best man he is supposed to be and tries not to think about the dance he had with her that started this whole fucked up situation. And then he makes the mistake of telling Octavia the truth.

“Are you about to leave?” Octavia asks still in her pajamas and wiping the sleep from her eyes.

Bellamy is already pulling his shoes on, his tux in his car since being picked up from the dry cleaners the day before. He nods, walking passed her to get a thermos for his coffee. He had stayed the night at his mom’s after being there too late watching tv with her. The two weeks she spent in the hospital was enough for her to want to make up every moment with her two babies before Octavia went back home. It didn’t matter that Bellamy moved out, he still spent most of his time with his mom. He wasn’t really complaining about it.

“You nervous about seeing Echo?” She prods and he rolls his eyes, so fucking tired of this conversation.

“Why would I be nervous?”

“You did date her for four years.”

“Well two of them was long distance and the other two were a mistake. Trust me, I am fine,” And he was. Being away from Echo made him realize just how much they should have _never_ been together.

Even if Clarke wasn’t a factor.

“Oh yeah, the two month depression definitely shows you are fine,” She mutters it and he finally can’t take it anymore.

She has been poking and prodding for weeks with her snide comments about Echo and the demise of his relationship and he can’t fucking _take it._

He slams his thermos to the counter, “It isn’t because of fucking Echo, okay?”

She jumps back at the anger snapping off of him and she bumps into the counter. The counter where he bent Clarke over—fuck everywhere he looks is Clarke. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to leave this house because everything reminded him of her.

The counter where they had sex.

The barstool she always sat on.

The recliner where he would find her curled up in for years.

The breakfast table where they ate with each other day after day and he found a time of peace.

The living room where they danced and first kissed.

His bed that no longer smells like her.

There wasn’t one spot in this house that she didn’t infiltrate and now he can’t stand to be there.

He wipes a hand over his face and tries to not raise his voice at his little sister, “It’s because of Clarke.”

“My Clarke?” Octavia asks teasingly but at his absolute destroyed expression she whispers, “Oh Bell, what did you do?”

“She asked me to let her go and I did,” He simply says as though anything with Clarke was simple. “I miss her, O.” He pauses. He looks around this stupid kitchen.

“Fuck!” He slams his hand against the counter again, hating himself just as much as he hated Clarke.

“Did you--” She stops, and he doesn’t look at her, doesn’t want to see her expression, “You did, didn’t you?”

He knows what she is asking, and he nods. Honestly, the fact he held out for eight days should grant him some kind of pat on the back or at least a compliment.

“I didn’t know she--” Octavia stumbles over her words again and Bellamy thinks this might just be the first time she is speechless.

“Trust me, you are not the only one.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?” She asks him and he picks up her thermos and snatches his keys.

“She has made it clear she wants me to do nothing,” He sighs, “Look, I have to go and I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He leaves and puts all of his Clarke thoughts back where they belong completely ready for a day where he focuses on Miller and Miller alone. Octavia just forgot to mention that Clarke would actually show up at this wedding.

So imagine the shock to his system when he takes his place next to Murphy, Jasper and Monty’s dad across from him and he scans the chapel and there, seated between his sister and Raven, there she sits.

Every girl he had ever dated or slept with could be in this room for all he cared and in fact, he knew two ex girlfriends were but all he could focus on, all that mattered was the blonde whose blue hair had faded to almost nothing sitting only one row behind family looking just as lost as he was.

He caught her eyes, unable to look away from her even when the pianist starts to play and Miller starts down the aisle alone. All he sees is the way she stands, the beautiful dress falling around her and her eyes still zeroed in on him. She doesn’t smile, she doesn’t frown, she is as blank as her canvases as she stares up at him. But those eyes, those stupid eyes he falls into looks like she regrets leaving him just as much as he regrets letting her.

Monty apparently made his way to the alter just as Miller had and they are half way through the ceremony when Bellamy finally comes back to the surface and he hears the voices around him.

The ceremony continues in a daze and Murphy is giving a slight nudge for him to fall in line and out the chapel. He cuts his eyes at her again, but she is staring at her hands just as she always does when she is uncomfortable.

And, alright for the past two months, he has been pouting and vehemently stating he hates her, but now here she is right near him and all he wants is to get to the reception so he can see her for just a little bit longer.

He realizes about the time he waltzes into the reception hall that most likely, they were going to sit at the same table. It only made sense for the Blake siblings to be put with the Murphys and Griffins. He’s a fucking mess just thinking about how everyone at the table will know was transpired during the two weeks they were quarantined together and god save him.

He is at his seat before her and sure enough he spies her place card beside Lincoln’s. Raven eases into her chair with Jack in her arms and leans over, “Try not to break her, Bellamy.”

He glares at his best friend’s wife, “She left _me,_ Murphy.”

“I didn’t see _you_ running after her,” She snaps back.

He makes an embarrassing grunt and goes to respond but she shakes her head and moves her eyes away from him. He looks up and sees Clarke shuffling the best she can in her heels, she probably hates them, and looking like she would rather be sat at a table with Gina and Finn then to be near him.

She takes her seat, Lincoln sitting down next to her and setting a hard look towards Bellamy and he wants to throw everything at everyone at his table. Why was everyone looking at him like he did this? She _left._ She left him standing like a fool and yet somehow he is the bad guy.

He looks at her and she is staring at her hands still, not even speaking to the others and his brain short circuits. She is small and quiet and a shell. She doesn’t even look like the same Clarke from two months ago that taught him to dance and tried and laughed through a yoga session. She looked _heartbroken._ She looked _humiliated._

_Was_ he the bad guy?

In those fourteen days, did he ever tell her he cared about her?

He told her he wanted her but that didn’t equate to caring. He knew she cared about him, he could see it in every movement she made after they slept together, how could she not see it in him? Did she really need those words? Did she really look at every happened between them, every moment, every touch, every word as just a way to sleep with her?

The table isn’t filled with awkward silence, Raven and Murphy telling story after story of Jack is enough to keep them entertained. Even when his mom comes to take Jack for the night since she has been designated at Jack’s only grandparent since Raven and Murphy’s parents were either dead or not in the picture. Miller and Monty thank every for coming, speeches are given, and dancing commences. Through all that time, Bellamy is still replaying the moments he had with the girl across from him, the girl who can barely manage a smile at her brother.

Finn the fucker appears pretty quickly after the dinner ends and the dancing starts asking for her to dance with him. He sees her hesitation and the very small jump of her eyes towards him before she is nodding wordlessly and following him to the dance floor. He doesn’t mean to glare at them, really, he doesn’t.

“That will get her attention,” Octavia teases with a nod and he flips her off.

“You don’t need to worry about Finn,” Raven adds and he really wishes they both just left him alone.

“Yeah, you are ruining your chances with Griffin all on your own,” Murphy shrugs, sipping on his wine.

“Can you all kindly fuck off?” He glares around the table, Lincoln just as quiet as usual around anyone that isn’t Octavia or Clarke.

“You two are impossible, for fucks sake,” Lincoln surprises them all with his words and Bellamy gives him his full attention, “She loves you and you are at least ninety percent in love with her so just stop with all this incessant bullshit and go fix it.”

“What he said,” Raven agrees.

He doesn’t respond and looks up at her dancing with Finn. She is nodding to whatever he is saying, giving a small smile when Finn leans down to whisper in his ear. He is going to go ask her to dance, simple as that. She is Clarke, he knows her, he loves her, he can ask her to dance.

He stands with a decisive nod, but as he steps towards her the dance is ending and she is walking the other way. Well, shit.

He falters in his steps but still follows after her. He catches Echo off to the side, he looks at her for a breath before she shakes her head sadly and turns back to the bar. He sees Gina too who is sitting beside her husband and completely entranced by him, not giving Bellamy a second thought.

He rushes out the doors, looking down each way of the hallway and seeing pink lace as she turns the corner. He takes off after her, rounding the corner to find her leaning against the wall, the dark red brick contrasting against her pale frame.

“Bellamy?”

She is wide eyed and fuck she is beautiful.

“I meant to say it,” He tells her. He isn’t sure where he is going with this and he is absolutely sure neither does she.

“Say what?”

He keeps his distance, terrified that if he traps her in, she will be more hesitant to let him stay. So, he stays feet away from her and she stays at the wall and she is trying not to look hopeful and she is trying to keep the affection out of her eyes.

“It wasn’t because I want you,” He starts, “My break ups with Gina and Echo. It wasn’t because I want you.”

She frowns and her eyes are starting to shine and she shifts like she is about to leave and fuck, that didn’t sound right.

“They just knew before I did,” He tries again, “They saw the way that I never look away from you. They saw the way I hang on every word. They saw everything I _didn’t._ ”

Her lips part and he sees the way he chest heaves in that knock out of a dress and he hesitantly takes a step forward.

“They knew it wasn’t because I wanted you,” Another step closer, now their shoes are touching and even in her heels, she is still tilting her head back to look up at him. He barrels through knowing this is his last chance or he loses her forever.

He gently cups her cheeks in his hands missing her soft skin these past two months. Her lip is trembling and he is such an idiot for now realizing all she needed was to hear it. Hear that he wanted to be with her in every way possible.

“They knew it was because I love you,” He whispers and her breath hitches, “And I did. I do. I meant to say it, I just thought you knew.”

She shakes her head causing a tear to fall, “I didn’t.”

“I _love_ you,” He says with more force, with more conviction and courage and she breathes a cry before pushing up to kiss him.

He is pretty sure he sighs at finally be connected with her again. It is sweet and full of promise in a way none of their other kisses were.

She pulls away, he leans his forehead against hers, “I always hoped you did.”

“I should have told you sooner. I should have told you that when you told me about the baby thing, all I wanted was to tell you that were other options, that _we_ had other options and that was a terrifying thought to have when you aren't even dating.”

She gives the smallest of laughs through her bright tears and she smiles, she finally gives him that heart stopping smile.

She pecks him again and whispers against his lips, “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! I might post a one shot of Murven as well as a future piece of Bellarke. I haven't decided yet lol


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